


It's empty and cold without you here

by Iniquitys-perk (Jiminspiration), pyres



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Manipulation, Sex, Sibling Incest, Soulless Sam Winchester, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 92,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiminspiration/pseuds/Iniquitys-perk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyres/pseuds/pyres
Summary: Dean has always been a little too in love with Sam. But it doesn't come to a head until they're faced with the Apocalypse. Feelings come out in the open, Sam makes stupid choices that lead to losing his soul instead of his life, and Dean following closely behind accepting the Mark of Cain.Somethings are canon, somethings aren't. Just a different spin on things with a heavy helping of brother-love.





	1. The Seals

Tragedy struck the Winchester’s the day Sam turned three months old. From then on, John worked hard to keep them safe, while Dean worked hard to protect Sam from knowing the truth-- from knowing how terrible things had been. Things may seem bad now with the moving around and their disappearing Dad. But Dean had been old enough to remember John crying and drinking all night while obsessing over what happened to Mary, newspaper clippings hung up everywhere where Dean could see. He hadn’t even tried to protect Dean from it.

So while Sam got to grow up slow and steady, Dean was forced into it too early in every way.

Like a normal teenager (even if Sam dramatically said that nothing was normal about their life) the younger Winchester had an awkward and moody stage in the ends of middle school and the beginnings of high school. He even listened to sad music while he did his homework (which drove Dean absolutely insane).

It was then that he began to complain that their family was all sorts of fucked up. That they were freaks. That they would never fit in anywhere.

He complained loudly and openly and Dean sat and listened and sometimes he tried to argue him about it, but it was mostly out of boredom and a need to try to parent when John wasn’t here to scream fight with his little brother.

Dean kind of envies him, for being able to kick and scream and feel it all.

When Dean realized that things were fucked, he was much younger. Potty training Sam in hotel rooms by day, and staying up late with John learning how to clean and load and unload guns. Types of ammo, and how to make them. Learning facts on the latest haunts while watching John add to his journal.

He was also getting bad grades in school because he was too tired to try his best. 

Adults were right, it was hard to raise kids and go to school.

Dean was still in elementary school when he realized that he would never have an honest and meaningful relationship with anyone but Sam. He couldn’t share the type of crazy they had with a normal person.

He suffered this realization quietly while making mac n cheese for Sam and looking over his kindergarten homework to make sure he used the right colors on the worksheet. 

It would’ve been nice just once to have a good bitch fit about it.

When Sam gets close to graduation, Dean watches as he poorly hides that he’s applying to colleges. He doesn’t react, even then. If anything, he’s a little more distant. It was hard trying to come to terms with knowing Sam was the closest thing to a soul mate he’d ever had, and trying to handle being abandoned without telling Sam how messed up he felt.

And when the truth comes out and Sam is as loud and whiny about why he was leaving as he’d always been, Dean doesn't contribute to the noise then either. He just hugs his brother, knowing that one day he would be back. They weren’t meant to have quiet, boring lives. Sam would never be able to forget that the world had all of these dangerous things running around ready to kill everyone you loved. 

Sam may be a brat, but he wasn’t wrong about one thing.

They were fucked. They were freaks. The only place Sam fit in was with him. And one day, Sam would realize that. 

Even though Sam doesn’t maintain contact, when he gets his associates, big brother is in the back of the crowd, watching proudly. He doesn’t let him know he’s there, but Dean takes a picture to keep in the glovebox in the impala, and he gets back on the road to go where John pointed.

His brother was doing good at playing normal. But Dean saw right through it. It was a labor of love to keep it hidden. It had to be. And a part of him felt secure in his own decision to keep hunting without him. He wanted to be with Sam, but he wasn’t like him, he couldn’t be happy lying. 

Two more years passed and selfishly, Dean showed up on Sam’s doorstep. He couldn’t be alone. It was a flaw. He liked to play it cool, but he’d grown up in very close quarters with family and extended periods of time alone really took a toll on Dean’s psyche. It was the only reason he’d hit a low enough to do this to Sam- to show up in the middle of the night and drag him off into the sunrise to look for Dad.

For weeks, until they’d figured things out, he felt kind of guilty for it. Like maybe Jessica was his fault. It isn’t until they learned more about old yellow eyes and what he wanted that Dean felt secure knowing that whether he took Sam on the road or not, Jessica would have been dead. 

Up until Sam’s personal dealings with his premonitions and the run ins with Azazel, Dean had never really realized how much John was keeping him in the dark. He taught him about hunting and how to kill things and how to survive but he feels like there’s this whole other side of it that he’s so out of touch with. And way too soon, before they’ve really begun to grasp what it all meant, He and Sammy were alone in the world. 

It’s one of the most difficult things he’s had to do, carry on knowing that he’s cheated death not once, but twice. He and Sam are good, they’re good hunters, or getting good. But there’s still so much hurt on Dean’s end from Sammy’s abandonment and openly ongoing bad remembrance of how Dean raised him. He doesn’t even seem to realize that Dean, in fact, raised him, and how talking so poorly about his childhood might affect Dean. 

There’s a lot of turmoil during those times. Dean is so worried about Sam all of the time, they’re starting to show each other how much they care in different ways. He does everything he can for his little brother but in the end, it isn’t enough. And he has so many regrets. 

All he could think about was how he couldn’t live in a world where Sam didn’t exist. He just couldn’t. 

Consequences didn’t matter. Sam- alive. That mattered. Nothing else. He signs away his soul without even batting an eyelash, kissing the crossroads demon so hard and needy. There were whispers all through hell about how much Dean loved his little brother after that one. 

These Winchester boys- they were getting quite a name for themselves downstairs already. 

His last year on earth is a weird one. For the first time, Sam is showing Dean how much he cares. He babies him a little, encourages his bad behaviors, works tirelessly to find a way to save him, and the only thing harder than knowing you were going to die was watching the person you loved struggling in vain to stop it. 

He knows that Sam’s attempts are futile. That nothing he does will help, but a part of him is hopeful too. That Sam will prove him wrong about something. 

They hear the dogs, and Dean looks at Sam like he’s so scared, probably the first time Sam has seen genuine fear from Dean, and when he goes, he goes down loud and messy. 

It was different knowing hell existed, and knowing you were going there, and then experiencing it. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Alastair takes a liking to him. For thirty years, he’s pulled apart piece by piece and repeatedly put together. Thirty was all he could stand before he gave in, and he spent his last ten years torturing others, helping Alastair to make new demons out of these poor sinners. 

Unknowingly, Dean (or rather Alastair) was directly responsible for triggering the apocalypse. He’d done everything he could to protect Sam, but while he was causing trouble down below, giving them everything they wanted-- Sam was upstairs doing the same thing, preparing for the apocalypse Dean started but on the wrong side. 

Thankfully for Dean, the good guys were hoping he would bat for them (they didn’t know who they were dealing with) and the first thing they needed to do to make that happen, was to rescue him from the depths of hell. 

Dean Winchester, three. Death, zero.

It’s incredibly disorienting. He wakes up in a pine box, the weight on the lid feeling impossibly heavy. Divine intervention gives him the strength to claw his way out of the dirt. 

Everything is overbright and sweltering hot. 

His shoulder is throbbing but really, it’s probably from unburying himself. He makes it to a gas station where he drank his weight in water and rummaged around for supplies. A part of him is wondering if he’d missed a catastrophic event or something. There was a serious lack of people around. 

A glass shattering noise brought Dean to his knees, his arm feeling fit to burn off. He’s left panting and peeling his shirt sleeve up to look at it. 

Was this another level of hell? Had he graduated to some kind of purgatory or something? He found enough coins to use the payphone and called Bobby. He doesn’t get a warm welcome, and paired with his current memories of where he’d been (and the complete loss of how much time had truly passed), he can’t say he blames him. 

None of Sam’s numbers worked, so he had no choice but to go to Bobby in person and prove that he was really Dean. 

He gets his first true hunter’s greeting and the biggest hug Bobby could muster; and no good news about Sam at all. 

“I don’t like that look, Bobby. What’s my brother got himself into, huh?” 

There was a pause there. 

“Well, i don’t really know. Don’t see much of Sam lately. He’s been huntin’, i know that. He calls sometimes.” For leads or info. “Been a real go getter with you gone, exorcisin’ demons like he’s got somethin’ to prove. But i don’t think he’s bein’ reckless. No reports of it anyway.” He explained, hesitation staying in his voice. 

“You think Sam did something?” Bobby asked carefully, voice pitched lower and more intimate. 

Dean considered it, corners of his mouse turned slightly as he nodded. “It’s what i woulda done.” 

The last four months apparently hadn’t been easy for anyone. What was he coming back to?

Dean had no way of knowing it yet, but he was coming back to a Sammy that was fundamentally changed. He didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t raised in this life quite the way Dean was, or if it was because he’d had a taste of something different but the loss breaks him inside. Something vital and important just gone like a blown fuse as he held his big brother’s tattered body in his arms. 

It had taken a few hours for the tears to dry up, all the while he sat in a stranger’s house, Dean’s blood caked in the edges of his finger nails, the whole world was made up of the smell of copper for days after Dean was safely tucked away in the ground. And boy had that one been a fight, hunters knew what corporeal links meant for the deceased, it was standard practice to make sure their own bloody deaths never survived on to hurt anyone else. But Sam was going to bring his brother back, he didn’t care if he had to move the Earth and stars themselves. 

Dean died for him, and for what? Sam’s heart wasn’t in hunting the way Dean’s was. His brother would always be the hero, but as far as Sam was concerned he was just the victim of circumstance. 

In the months after Dean, Sam had used that feeling (anger--there was no use calling it anything but) as fuel. He threw himself into going after demons right at the source. Sure, there was the odd side job when he was low on leads, but Sam was a little one sided. If Dean had known how many cases he’d overlooked or passed on, he would’ve been disappointed but that was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg when it came to disappointments. 

Sam told himself again and again that the ends justified the means, but it had practically been Dean’s dying wish for him to ditch Ruby. Their demon cohort had never really been Dean’s favorite--her timing was always just a little too convenient, always had a full hand of cards and an ace up her sleeve. She’d been one step ahead of them the entire time they were stumbling around those last few months and Dean hadn’t trusted it. 

But she had been there to pick up the pieces of Sam that Dean had left behind. She put a purpose in one hand, and a weapon in the other. His psychic abilities. Yet another blatant disregard for Dean’s wishes, he’d maintained til the bitter end that anything from the demon had to be bad, but Sam had a million and one excuses for why it was necessary. And maybe that was guilt talking, Dean wasn’t even alive yet and he was already preparing for his anger.

So it’s with good intentions and maybe a shortsighted gaze that he’s spent the last four months on the road with Ruby, pulling demons out of hosts with his mind while trying to find anyone who was willing to deal for his brother. The work is slow, frustrating, unrewarding. Sam hates that they don’t have a single thing to show for their searching, but he refused to stop. One of them had to know where Dean was, even if that meant tracking down every last demon walking top side. And since the hell gate, there were more than ever. 

Which is why it’s such a shock to see Dean standing in the doorway of his hotel room. Ruby looks equally as shocked, half dressed and wearing some college grad neither Dean nor Bobby would recognize. That was at least something. The thought of Dean coming back on his own accord without Sam knowing is hard enough to swallow that he has to test him out just to be sure. Bobby’s presence alone should have told him that, but if he’d learned anything in his time working with demons, it's that they were ruthless and crafty. Not above wearing the deadmeat he’d left in the dirt and possessing Bobby just for the hell of it. 

The minute it dawned on him this was actually Dean, there was nothing left but to hug his brother. By definition Winchesters weren’t the hugging sort, but the situation more than called for it. The last time he’d seen his brother he’d been the sort of dead that leaves bloodstained nightmares behind. 

“I should...go.” Ruby. Right. Sam’s stomach swooped, so sure Dean would know just hearing her speak that it was the demon he so despised. He hurried her into her clothes and out the door, sweating their audience the whole time. Hyper aware of their eyes on him as he said goodbye. Ruby was the good kind of deceiving, she sold their lie better than Sam ever could have. 

“It’s Chrissy…” She gave him that big brown eyed doe pout as she left and Sam wondered vaguely if he’d ever be that good at lying or if she was born with the gift of deceit. Never once did he consider she might’ve been using it on him just as easily. 

He grabbed Bobby and Dean both beers and he perched on the arm of the couch, unable to keep his eyes off Dean. His mind was still working over the fact that he was here, he was fine, living and breathing. It left him to wonder what these past few months had been for. He’d done so much wrong and here Dean was, alive and well without his help.

Dean sees little red flags here and there- Sam hadn’t ever been the sleep around type. Even less so after Jessica. Time was supposed to heal all wounds.. And there was the fact that he’d started talking to them before getting rid of her. Though, maybe that was just Sam being as eager as ever. 

He’s so focused on the fact that he’s really here, that Sam’s here and seems okay- that it’s easy to miss the signs. He looked more grown up. Hardened. Definitely stronger. In these four months apart, they’d both done a lot of maturing.

He watched her go, facial shrugging a little and unsure if he was proud or jealous. He shook his head, a mirror of silent question beside Bobby. Sam seemed surprised to see him. What was going on?

“What did you do, Sam?” He accused him so self righteously. “What’d it cost, huh?”He stood taller, trying to be the authoritative big brother here in the face of his taller younger brother. “Don’t tell me i died for nothing, Sammy, i swear to God, i’ll kill you myself. You won’t even have to wait a whole year.” He threatened him out of love, emotion roughing up his voice. 

“Don’t lie to us, Son. I know you’ve been lookin’ for a way to get Dean outta the ground. And he didn’t raise himself.” Bobby chimed in. They were both so sure Sam was lying. They weren’t even giving him a chance to talk, they were working on his facial expressions and effectively tag teaming him. 

Dean took his turn as Sam tried to catch a break to speak,“So, what? You a Demon’s bitch boy now? I didn’t want this, Sam!” Dean was so angry. There was no other explanation for this. Sam did it. He grabbed him by his shirt when he still wouldn’t admit it, hauling him up off his butt, still managing to keep his firm presence even with Sam towering over him. It never intimidated him. He would scold Sam even if he was seven feet tall. It was his job to keep him safe. 

That piercing sound cut through the tension and Dean’s fists curled tighter into Sam’s shirt, pulling him in protectively instead of up in anger. “Ah!” They were bowed together, the windows rattling and threatening to break but this time, the noise backed off before it could.

Whatever it was… it seemed to be lessening in intensity. 

When it was over, Bobby was cussing and picking himself up off the ground where he’d hit the deck; Dean was letting Sam go, slowly, neck a little red from the way they’d been curled together.

“I thought it was just me.” Residual effects from hell or something, but Sam and Bobby felt it too.

As much as Sam wished he'd been able to find away, he couldn't take credit for this. Nothing he'd been doing these past couple months had had any sort of impact. 

“I tried for months but no demon would deal.” He looked away from Dean as he said it, aware that his brother had told him not to poke at the deal once he was gone. But he hadn't listened to much of what his brother had to say. 

“It wasn't me.” 

As if on queue, the pressure started to build in the room and a high pitched frequency split their ears for what felt like an eternity before fading away. When Sam straightened, he let go of the grasp he had on Dean's forearm. 

“What was that?” They'd never had a run in with anything with that kind of presence. He had up close and personal experience with demons of all strengths lately and none of them felt like that. Sam’s ears were still ringing and he could see Dean rubbing at his own. 

He hated that his first impulse was to talk to Ruby, see if she'd heard of anything like it. Without Dean here, he'd really come to rely on her and her bottomless pool of knowledge. He assumed it came with being around so long and never really examined it further than that.  
Bobby seemed at a loss, and that worried Dean more than anything. He didn’t say what they were all thinking-- If Dean had heard this shortly after his resurrection- maybe whatever it was had been responsible for taking him out of Hell. 

“How ya feelin’?” It was directed at Dean. 

“Starving. We shoulda stopped for burgers.” He answered, distractedly and avoidant of the real question. Bobby just stared. “How are you feeling, Dean? Anything off?” He prodded, refusing to let Dean ignore him. 

“I feel fine.” It wasn’t clipped but it was short and sweet in the way Dean tended to get when feelings were involved. He wasn’t the talk about it type, that was all Sam.

Many a demon had taunted Sam about how his brother was burning like the rest of them, but Sam couldn’t know how awful it really was. Dean didn’t want him to. 

Dean takes comfort in bitching at his brother. He complains about the car, mostly. But it distracts them from talking about what he went through and that’s what mattered.

They drove the short way to the psychic Bobby knew. Dean was all for answers. As great as it was to be topside again, he was eager to know what the catch was. Was he indebted to someone? 

To get him out of demon country, it had to be some sort of evil. Bobby was right about that. He had to be. 

They idled at a stop while Bobby refilled his tank, and Dean reached over without boundaries and touched the amulet on Sam’s neck, smiling a little to himself. 

“You didn’t bury me with it? I figured it got lost in the carnage.” it had felt like those hounds ripped him into ribbons. 

Sam had been thoroughly lost in his thoughts, enough so that the touch caught him off guard a little. He didn't flinch but it was a near thing, and the reflex to use his powers in defense had been hard to tamp down. Ava was right about one thing, the learning curve was crazy. Once he embraced them the sky really was the limit. 

“Oh.” He looked down at the little horned deity, and he moved to lift the cord off. “I was holding on to it for you.” Sam dropped it into Dean’s hand. “I didn't know how you'd come back.” No sense leaving it rotting in a pine box if they were just gonna zap Dean somewhere else. 

There's a wince there, Sam thinking about the bloody aftermath of that night. When he closed his eyes sometimes he could still see the mangled empty shell Dean had left behind. He tried to forget but you can't unsee things like that. Jessica haunted him too, but those were mainly dreams filled with acrid smoke and more sadness than he knew what to do with. 

“You think this psychic can really find out what this thing is?”

Dean put it on without hesitation, ignoring how his arm still held a dull burn even after a cold shower and two fresh changes of clothes. He just couldn’t shake how dirty he felt all over. The things they’d made him do- the way it made him feel- it was hard to cope with alone, but he didn’t want to burden Sam further. 

“I don’t know, you got any other ideas, Rambo?” He teased affectionately, giving Sam one of his signature smiles. There was still good to be had here. Things may be all messed up inside, but he was back with Sammy. That was something to be happy about. 

“If Bobby trusts her, i’m down to listen.” He added in as they got to driving again, Dean nosing out of the parking lot to follow Bobby.

As they kept on, it drew silent between them. But Dean couldn’t help but ask,”What happened after i bit the dust, huh? With Lilith? And where’s Ruby, anyway?” He just laid all his curiosities out here for Sam.

“Gone I guess.” Sam shrugged a shoulder, aiming for casual and narrowly missing but he kept talking anyway. “She fired this burning white light at me, I don't know who was more shocked when it didn't do anything, me or her.” 

Another perk of his abilities, not that he was going to gloat to Dean about that. 

“She left pretty quick after that.” He still regrets letting her go, but he'd been sort of overwhelm with grief at the time and not exactly thinking his best. Afterall, in the four months since Dean he hadn't been able to find her again and not for lack of trying. 

“Do you...remember anything about being down there?” He's been putting off asking because he knows how Dean will react, but now was as good a time as ever. How bad was it? Did he suffer the way all of the books said? 

Dean was a little stuck thinking about what Sam meant and what it must have been like as he was screaming his way all the way down to hell. 

And then he has to go and ask that question. He remembers. Too much, really. The hooks they hung him from, the way Alastair played with him. There was no other way to describe it besides play. He’d drug out every session so long that Dean had been half convinced he’d been in hell half a century. 

He licked his lips briefly as he thought, just wetting them as he focused on driving and tried to put on a good show to keep baby brother from worrying. 

“Nah, nothing worth mentioning. It was like working a job in florida.” He joked, giving Sam that money smile, and hitting his arm with the back of his hand as if to say ‘yeah?’ And then he kept on driving without saying another thing about what he did down there. At the weight of the souls he forced dark. 

“Anything new with the uh, freaky ESP stuff?” He didn’t mean to be offensive, Dean was just afraid of it because it came from what his Father taught him was the greatest evil. 

They both were so caught up in their own lies, they couldn’t see it on eachother. 

At the psychic’s, Dean shows he’s still Dean. He can’t stop flirting with Pamela. He couldn’t help it, he had a weakness for girls that started it. He encourages her bad behavior, right down to the séance. 

He nudged Sam when she bent over so he could share the good view, looking so game to mess around after what he’d gone through. A little fun sounded great.

Dean sat down, his flirting getting on the edge of nervous when he slid his hand into Sam’s. God, he couldn’t remember the last time they held hands. He thinks maybe Sam was nine or ten when he told Dean he was too old for it. He looked over at him briefly, palm sweaty in Sam’s big puppy grasp. 

Pamela caught his attention with a hand to the inner thigh and Dean squeezed Sam’s hand. 

“Woah, he didn’t touch me there, Sweetheart.” He breathed. 

“He didn’t? My Mistake.” Pamela practically purred as her fingers slid up his arm. “Am i getting warmer, cowboy?” 

Embarrassment flushed his tanned skin and Dean shrugged his arm out of his overshirt on that side without letting go of Sam’s hand, and it was Pamela who rolled up his sleeve to expose one of his hidden secrets - The mottled handprint on his arm.

The only thing on Sam's mind going into this, was his trepidation about being around a psychic. A true psychic. Much like with Dean, he was afraid she'd take one look at him and know what he was doing. But she's distracted enough by Dean's obvious interest that they don't even exchange words, aside from her insinuating that he join in their fun. 

It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last either. It always amused Sam how almost offended his brother was by the idea and this time around was no different. He laughed his way to the table while Pam set up, though some of that lightheartedness faded as they all gathered around. 

Seeing the mark for the first time sparks the first bit of fear and uncertainty he's had since seeing Dean in one piece. Something pulled his brother from the depths of hell, and it left a mark. It had to be powerful. 

His hand slid back into Dean's and he closed his eyes with the others as Pamela began the seance. Sam knows the ins and outs, he'd studied psychics and mediums after meeting Missouri but this wasn't going according to plan. 

The table started shifting beneath them, a tv in the other room flicking on to the white noise of static. Just like at the hotel, the pressure in the room started to build, Sam's ears threatening to pop. He didn't know when he’d stopped holding hands, probably around the time Bobby started telling Pam to stop, but Dean still had a firm grip on his other hand and Pam was still anchored to him. 

Pam's screams were almost drown out by the high pitched whine that filled the room, and it was immediately accompanied by the smell of burnt flesh. 

For a few panic gripped seconds Sam can't move. He's stuck looking at where her eyes used to be as she sobbed into Bobby's arms. Someone yelled at him to call an ambulance and it finally spurned him into motion. 

He stood in the living room on the phone, shaken to the core. This was big. Bigger than anything they'd faced before. 

It goes worse than Dean thought it could, honestly. But there’s nothing left to do but pick up the pieces and keep looking for answers. Whatever pulled him out of hell, this Castiel, as Pam called him, was powerful. And it wanted him. And not knowing what was after him was killing Dean. 

He resisted sleeping that night, staying up real late reading and being near Sam. But after the excitement of being risen, his body gives out pretty heavily. 

Dean came to another greeting by Castiel, and this one was bad. He didn’t know what he was doing or what he wanted, but he couldn’t help but feel like this intense noises were some kind of warning sign. 

Never would he have guessed that it was because Sam was out being bad with Ruby.

 

It’s a little hurtful waking up unguarded and alone. Something was after him, and Sam just bailed while he was sleeping. Was he not as worried as the rest of them were?

He calls his brother, knowing he’s lying but not having the heart to pull his teeth out right now. So he just lies right back. 

With Bobby as his reluctant partner, they begin setting up to summon Castiel. It should say something, that he’s willing to die with Bobby, but won’t even let Sam know what they’re doing, but Bobby stays with him regardless. 

Although he wasn’t happy about it. He bitched the whole time they spent preparing for the ritual, and glared so many daggers into Dean with his impatience during the time after. 

He was waiting for the ear piercing noise that never came.

When the roof began to shake, he stood, shotgun readied. “Maybe, it’s the wind…” He was starting to have second thoughts about this, but there was nothing to be done now but be ready. 

They’re so frightened, they don’t even ask questions. The ‘man’ appeared and they just began to fire. 

Dean’s voice trembled, Castiel so close to him with Ruby’s knife buried in his chest. It clamored to the floor and he shook his head at Bobby over his shoulder. “No!”

He’s left wide eyed as the senior partner hit the deck. Did he kill him? Just like that?

“You’re Castiel?” His voice was rough, frightened, but trying hard to keep his chin up in the face of this. 

He skirted around him to Bobby, his body language not threatening, which was confusing for Dean. He crouched to check Bobby’s pulse without taking his eye off Castiel. 

Bobby had always been the type of man to want all the information before taking action he and Dean butted heads constantly over plans or lack thereof. Yet here he was sitting in a warehouse waiting for whatever it was that they just summoned, and that wasn't even the worst of his concerns. Anyone with two eyes and a loose understanding of these boys could see something wasn't right. 

Ever since they'd met up with Sam they'd done nothing but lie to each other. Sam was sneaking off in the night, even when he was around he seemed aloof and withdrawn. Less willing to share what he was thinking. 

If Bobby had his guess, he'd say it seemed like he was keeping them for someone else and that worried him. And here Dean was, charging head first regardless, overlooking all the wrong because if he admitted something else was broken the whole damn card castle would come down. It broke his heart to see them both this way. Sometimes he thought about locking them in his panic room together just to get them to talk. But it was just as likely to end in blows, that way. 

Best to let them get around to it in their own time. 

He had some theories about what pulled Dean out of hell, but they were just that. Guesses. Anything he was reaching for either hadn't been seen in centuries or it was fairytale. But his mind was thinking big. 

Just not big enough. 

Whatever it was that joined them in the warehouse, it took every type of munition, it walked through every trap and ward he'd drawn on the floor. Nothing even phased it. Bobby had enough time to be sorry he let Dean's brashness get them killed before the world went dark. 

The man, if he was that at all, regarded Dean with curious but guarded blue eyes. 

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” He looked almost proud of himself, and he was. Not every angel was given such an important, holy task. Saving the righteous man, their would be leader for the end of times. Castiel had watched plenty of humans, but Dean Winchester was extraordinary. 

It was just his brother that worried them all. 

Sam who was currently holed up in an all night diner with Ruby.

“I don’t want to come between you and your brother, Sam.” Ruby told him, just feeding into what he wanted. Being understanding would get her farther than trying to get rid of Dean. She stepped into his airspace. “But i miss what we had.” She touched his chest, looking up through her lashes at him. 

“Does he know who pulled him out? They’re kind of freaking out downstairs.” She didn’t know anything. Sam’s biggest resource was just as much at a loss as they were. “It wasn’t a demon, for sure.”

“I still want to find Lilith.” He pressed, not sure he could give this up now that he'd started. She's created something hungry and dark inside of him and the idea of stopping terrified him. “Dean won't understand what we're doing. I still need to figure out a way to tell him.”

Lies lies lies. He had no intentions of telling his brother the things he did during his time in hell and if Ruby saw through him she didn't say a word. 

“Whatever you need, Sam. You know that.” She played along easily. “You shouldn’t stay away long, he might get suspicious.” When he soothed her about Dean out drinking with Bobby, they settled to discuss moving forward, and leads on demons she had for him, oblivious to the seemingly trouble Dean was getting into.

“Yeah. Thanks for that.” Dean exhaled, relieved that Bobby had a pulse. He stood, staying the couple of feet away they were, eyes trailing onto to how far away and useless Ruby’s knife was. 

“So, what are you supposed to be, huh?” He questioned, not as afraid anymore, but just as on guard and confused. “Some super demon? I always knew tax accountants were evil.”

Dean circled around, eyes staying on Cas and the stiff way he followed to keep facing Dean. Those big blue eyes were so deep and pure. Dean could get lost in them trying to figure out what was behind them. 

“Wow. A sense of humor. You demons keep it interesting. Angels aren’t real.” He denied it without batting an eyelash. If angels did exist, they weren’t good. 

An angel didn’t pull him out of hell. Nope. That was too much crazy, even for them.

Considering who he was talking to, Castiel shouldn't be surprised that Dean doesn't believe, but he couldn't help it. Even after being raised out of hell he refused to even consider the fact that good things might happen to people deserving.

“What's the matter, you don't think you deserve to be saved?” He pressed on, unbothered by the demon comments. Deep down Dean had to know that wasn't true. Even Azazel had obeyed the laws that governed demons, he wasn't immune to devils traps or warding. Nothing had worked on Cas so far. 

“This is your problem Dean, you lack faith.” Strictly speaking, this whole thing was supposed to work on faith. They were forbade to show humans their angelic presence (wings, grace, halos) but he could tell Dean had seen enough bad in his life that he needed reminding that good was out there too. 

He shifted his feet a little wider, bracing himself as he focused on warping the light, giving Dean just the faintest glimpse of the wings spread wide and glorious around him. A technicality, showing him just the shadow, but he was pretty sure showing Dean the real thing would melt his eyes much like poor Ms. Pamela. 

Their eyes never left one another, even as the negative of his wings faded and the room. Castiel felt a vague sort of discomfort in doing so; he wasn't quick to call it emotion but he was a little struck by wanting to know what Dean thought of them. Of him in general. How could he stand there and deny the bond they shared? Castiel could feel it like a string taut between them. 

Dean resisted the urge to touch his arm where Castiel’s mark lie. He didn’t like special attention like this. The thought that an angel drug him out of hell just couldn’t possibly be true. He wasn’t that kind of special. He saved some people, sure. But he didn’t deserve what Castiel was saying he’d done for him. 

“I’m gonna call you Cas.” He felt ridiculous saying the full form of his name. “I don’t know what your angle is here. Thanks for the uh, saving and all. But whatever you think i am- that’s not me.” 

They talked for a bit, Dean got some questions answered, Castiel got nowhere with Dean, and they were left at a cautious impasse, Bobby out on the floor nearby. Their eyes were locked as they had been for awhile now, standing closer than Dean was comfortable with but he couldn’t find the words to voice it. 

Dean sends a message to Sam to empty the hotel room and meet at Bobby’s. 

It was a lot to take in, being told by an angel that God wanted him to have faith. To believe in good, and to help the big man upstairs. Dean had never had faith in anything but family and a girl named Baby. He didn’t know how to even think about what they were asking.

From there, it was endless arguments with Sam, and steadily ignoring his want to speak to Castiel. He didn’t even know what he wanted to talk to him about, it was just nagging in the back of his mind. 

Especially with the big weird job they were on. It feels like some kind of horrible deja vu that the job turns out to be connected somehow. It made Dean want to go bury himself again, try again later. 

When things calmed down, Dean internally struggled for hours on if he wanted to try to summon Cas again to find out more about what was going on (Sam wanted him to, Bobby had stayed out of it) before finally falling asleep. 

It’s hardly a few minutes later that something woke him up, and his heart raced a little when he saw Cas standing in Bobby’s kitchen. 

He looked over at Sam, watching the rise and fall of his chest. It was a deep sort of sleep, so he got up off the floor in his briefs and t-shirt and went over to the angel where they could talk privately in the kitchen. 

“Cas?” He questioned his presence.

The rustle of feathers, almost imperceptible even in the stillness of the house, was the only thing that preceded Castiel’s presence. When Dean turned, the angel was leaned against the counter across from his cot, silently watchful. 

“Excellent job with the witnesses.” He greeted, as pleased as one could be about Dean being able to hold his own. With so many seals out there, it was impossible to know which one Lilith was going after next. They could only cover their bases and try and snuff out the fires she started along the way. 

To Cas, the anger he’s met with is unjustified. Dean had handled himself just fine, and the witnesses were lain to rest again. He didn't see the need for divine intervention even in retrospect. 

“I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns.” If there was any pitfall to Dean Winchester it was his shortsightedness. Castiel, and all the other angels were focused on the bigger picture. Casualties had happened on both sides and this was only the beginning of the end. 

It was hard for Dean to understand why Cas would pull him out of hell, and not give him a heads up on the bad that was coming at him. There’s a big of a shiver coming on at the way Cas said he was a warrior of God. A soldier. He liked the way it sounded, so of course he had to cover it up by being sarcastic and passive aggressive in the face of his own feelings.

John had always called him his little soldier. He was kind of partial to the wording. 

“There can’t be a God. Not with all of this shit going on, Cas. You say you’re an Angel, great. Happy for you. But who do you really answer to? “ He questioned a little deeper, stepping closer so they could talk while Dean was upset without waking Sam up. 

“If you say he works in mysterious ways, so help me…” he threatened him with a pointed finger. 

“Throw me a bone, Cas. You said you had work for me. Work like the witnesses? Do i get a any hints? Come on, man.” He urged the angel to share with the class. “I don’t like working blind.”

Castiel hesitated, weighing his options. He could get reprimanded for giving Dean more information than deemed necessary, but he also knew how imperative it was that Dean remained on their side. 

“The rising of the witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals.” The angel knew he'd caught Dean's attention with that. “You can think of them as locks on a door.” 

Of course Dean wanted to know what was on the other side, what could be so important that angels and demons alike were coming aground?

“If Lilith opens them all, Lucifer walks free.” 

This time, he's expecting Dean balking at the thought. Castiel was prepared for his lack of belief. 

“Three days ago you didn't think I was possible.” He said evenly, though something like amusement sparked in his eyes for a brief moment before it vanished. “Why do you think angels are here, walking among you for the first time in over two thousand years?” 

This was end of the world level activity, it warranted some attention. 

Two thousand years. That made Dean’s head spin even more so than the fact that Lucifer was real. They’d spent so much time reading angel lore lately, he knows the stories. Not to mention the bible he’d been dipping into as ‘a comparison’. 

He asked a couple more curious questions, but he got spooked by how easy it was to talk to Cas and insulted him mostly unintentionally with his own avoidance. 

“Bang up job you’re doing,”shit eating grin on his face. Completely unaware that Cas was under a lot of pressure and stress and that these side notes with Dean and his faithlessness and his attitude weren’t helping. 

Being scolded is the biggest shock of the century.

“Cas-” He stepped forward, not looking to apologize, but maybe get him not to leave before he’d really gotten any info but he was gone. He’s left stunned. Scolded by an angel of the lord. Threatened to be thrown back in Hell. Shit, what was he dealing with here? 

Instead of staying up alone with his thoughts, Dean went over to Sam.

He stood over him, hesitating. He shouldn’t. He should go to bed, try to put words to it tomorrow. Things had been so weird between them lately. Dean was so bad at talking. But he wanted Sam to know. 

“Hey.” He bumped his hip with his knee. “You awake?”

 

It was disappointing, seeing someone you had put so much stock in still act so flippant. Castiel left, for risk of pushing Dean any further with idle threats. But it weighed heavy on his mind that Dean still didn't trust him. 

 

On the couch, Sam was artfully stretched out and bent at odd angles to fit it's length. He was bone tired after their ordeal today, so he'd been in that deep dreamless sleep. It didn't stop him from snapping awake at Dean's nudging though. Sam was a light sleeper unless he was drunk. 

“Mm. What's up?” He sat up slow, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. Across the way there was a slice of light in the kitchen coming from a light out in the yard, besides that Dean was painted in soft greys. 

Sam cracked a yawn, jaw popping quietly. “Time s'it?” Their lives were just odd enough that Dean waking him up in the middle of the night wasn't out of the ordinary. Obligingly he moved over so Dean could sit too, though he wasn't surprised in the slightest when his brother sat on the end of his cot instead. Things were like that. 

Dean licked his lips, feeling his nerve shrivel up a little watching Sam come awake. He sat mostly just so they were more eye level. He’d grown to dislike looking down on Sam. It made him uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know.” He pitched his voice low. “C- He was here.” He admitted. “The angel.” He didn’t mention upsetting him. That was just for him and Cas to know. “You really believe there’s a God?” He asked just for confirmation, doing something rare and leaning on Sam for reassurance. He must be pretty lost about what Castiel told him. 

“It’s all about Lucifer. That’s what he said. Lilith is trying to jailbreak him.”

For a moment Sam wondered if he was still sleeping. His brother wanting to discuss theology? The same brother who seemed almost offended when Sam mentioned that he still prayed occasionally, like having faith in anything besides themselves was a crime. This whole angel business must've really had him shaken up. 

And with good reason, too considering the next few words from Dean's mouth was like dropping an atom bomb. 

In the silence that ensued, the nighttime sounds of the house crept in around them. Wood popping and sighing, crickets wailing outside, and faintly the television from Bobby's room upstairs. Sam exhaled and it felt deafening. 

“We have to stop her.” His plan remained unchanged, but suddenly the stakes were so much higher. Sam had never seen his brother scared, but right now in the dark, it was the closest he's been. “We'll stop her.” He said firmer, more confident this time. 

Dean felt bile trying to climb his esophagus, so he mostly just nodded along. If he was being honest, he would tell Sam that the thought of something more evil than what he saw in hell with Alastair, something heaven was afraid of, terrified him.

But Sam says the important parts, the parts that matter, and he agrees. 

“Whatever it takes.” He agreed, not realizing he was practically giving Sam the misbehave green light. 

The only saving grace for Sam getting away to do just that like this was a sleepless night and an angel bringing him back in time.

It’s the biggest roller coaster thus far, and Dean doesn’t know if he can take anymore.

He just wants Sam. He wants to hug his brother and tell him how great Mom and Dad were. And about Samuel and Deanna. People they had grown up knowing nothing about. 

Not the bad stuff. No reason to make him blame Mom when he already had a hard time connecting to her. He just wanted to focus on the good for a change. Work together to make things right again.

Castiel’s words haunted him the whole way to find Sam. Dark path? Did yellow eyes have more plans from the grave? Was there more he needed to protect Sam from? He surely wasn't thinking that Sam was getting himself into trouble.

What he witnesses his little brother doing made his eyes water. But when it really set in that Sam was keeping some very major things from him, and not just keeping them hidden but outright lying, all there is left is anger.

He gave his life for Sam’s. He told him over and over that anything that yellow eyes wanted for him was bad. To leave it alone, let it fade away. He wants to shake the hell out of him and ask him what’s wrong. Ask him what happened while he was gone that made him do this.

The door came open in front of Sam, and in his wake lie Dean, looking ready to beat the snot out of him.

“Got anything to say for yourself? Save it, let me explain? Is that it?” He’s been the one catching Sammy doing bad for years. He knows the go tos.

“Who the hell is she, really? Don’t tell me it’s who i think it is.”

“It’s good to see you again, Dean. I heard you had a lot of fun with Alastair.” She taunted him and Dean’s jaw creaked he clenched so hard.

“Ruby.” It was a growl so low he seemed ready to froth.

In an instant they were grappling and throwing fists, and only when Ruby backs off at Sam’s command does it end. 

Dean shakes his head a little when he looks at Sam like he can’t stand the sight of him. 

“Not another word.” As if Sam had even gotten a word in, he knocked into him as he passes, satisfied in hearing Sam stumble on his way out.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. He’d needed Sam, and now he's never felt so alone.

He drove around for a long time, all night really, just trying to remain calm. And when he felt he was okay just to get his things, head back to Bobby’s cool off and research and wait for Cas to give him another bone, he went back to the hotel, not planning on saying a word to Sam, lest he explode.

Dean began to shove his things in his bag, steadily ignoring Sam.

“You never wanted me to come back.” He dug sharply at him with his words. “Now you and Ruby can be together. Fight demons.” His voice was so on edge, so tightly wound up. Sam had a time bomb on his hands.

Dean had to know that not letting him explain was torture to Sam. To him, logic was infallible and he'd weighed the means against the end game and it had been worth it. He'd be stupid not to use this curse for something good. 

He'd been waiting at the motel room when Dean finally returned, knowing his brother would probably never be ready to talk about this but he didn't expect him to start packing either. 

“Are you going somewhere?” He stood from the table and watched him rolling his clothes with the ease of someone who'd never learned how to fold them any other way. “Dean? You can't just ignore me.” Careful what you wish for. Dean's next words gutted him but instead of sadness he let anger flow through him instead. 

“No, you don't get to say that.” There were tears in his eyes, but that square to his jaw that said he was broiling. Sam rounded the bed to get inbetween Dean and his duffle, finger jabbing him hard in the chest. “You weren't here Dean. You left me alone and I had to-” he choked on the word like he still couldn't think about it. “I had to bury you.”

What offended Sam the most was that Dean didn't seem to understand this was for him. Every bit of it had been to get strong enough to find Lilith, the one who hurt his big brother. 

“I'm saving people Dean, I've saved more in the last four months than we do in a year.” If emotion wouldn't sway Dean, facts had to. Sam was willing to look the shades of grey here in the face of being able to pull demons out without hurting the host. He didn't think as black and white as Dean did when it came to anything vaguely supernatural. 

“Using the knife kills the victim, what I'm doing most of them survive. The majority, now that he was getting better. In the beginning he hadn't been able to do it quick enough and it had but too much strain on the host body. There were other things he could do too, besides controlling demons but he wasn't going to go there with Dean. He'd look at him even worse than he was now. 

Before he can manage words again, he has to take out the poor lamp. He was trying so hard not to hit Sam, and that means little brother getting shoved up against the wall.

“If it’s so great, why did you hide it like a dirty secret?” He hadn’t had the guts to tell Dean. And that spoke volumes.

“She played you man! Why can’t you see that? Why don’t you ever listen to me?” He pulled him off of it just to slam him up against it again. “What else can you do?” He demanded to know. And he didn’t believe that this was all Ruby had taught him. He just doesn’t believe it.

“I can’t even look at you.” He sounded so hurt, it broke through the anger a little. But when Dean went to leave and Sam still tried to stop— he swung around and got Sam in the face hard enough to say he wasn’t just miffed. Dean was nuclear.

“God knows where this ends, Sam. And it’s nowhere good.” He was starting to believe, after what Cas just put him through- what he did for him.

“How do you think i knew where you were? Cas told me to stop you.” Was that a nickname? He hadn’t said it to Sam yet. “Or he would. So you tell me, does that sound like something good that you’re doing?”

When he tried to leave again this time, he dodged touching, slapping Sam’s hand away as he skirted by him. 

Sam knew Dean would be angry once he found out, but the disappointment was more crushing than he could've ever prepared himself for. All he wants to do is stop him, make him understand but Dean was having none of it. He slipped through his fingers and left Sam alone in the half-empty motel room. 

His absence was glaring, a hole carved out from newly filled in dirt. He had his brother back and they couldn't even manage to stay together. Sam hung his head, heels of his palms digging in to his temples. Had the angels really told Dean to stop him? Was it really that bad? Sam was arrogant enough to feel like he had control over everything. 

What he was doing with Ruby, he could stop if he wanted but he was their best shot at Lilith. After that, he could shelve his powers and never look back. He believed that. Like most addicts do. 

Dean didn't know how far down the rabbit hole Sam had gone, and after seeing his anger tonight, Sam had genuine cause to fear him finding out the rest. If Dean didn't kill him, his big brother's disgust would.

He palmed his phone out of his pocket, thumb hesitating over Ruby's number. Running to her would only prove Dean right, but she did such a good job of cleaning up the pieces his brother left behind. Sam was sure his brother was roaring down the interstate trying to put as many miles between them as possible. He always turned to the road when he was angry. 

It’s a six hour drive to South Dakota from here, but angry with a lead foot, Dean makes it in just under four.

And very shortly after, Sam got a phone call.

“You two are worse than any married couple i’ve ever met.” Bobby greeted him when he answered.

“Wanna tell me why your brother showed up here and told me you were in a ditch somewhere?”

Sam motioned for Ruby to be quiet and he got up and let himself in to the bathroom. A visit from Ruby, a little pick me up, and Sam wasn't quite so bothered anymore. Sure he was angry, it was hard to find a time when Sam wasn't lately but at least he wasn't hurting. 

“He found out I've been working with Ruby to track Lilith.” He didn't trust Bobby with a secret like this, something John had instilled in him that didn't quite stick with Dean the same way. Sam would always guard their secrets a little better. Especially ones that could get all of the hunters across the states on his tail. Bobby had that kind of pull and networking. 

“Did he make it in okay?” Of course he'd run to Bobby's, Sam figured it was between there or that one bar in Virginia he really liked. 

Bobby’s sigh said he knew how sore of a spot Ruby was to Dean. He knew more was going on, he knew they were both doing a lot of lying lately, but he didn’t push it.

“Seems like it. He’s drinking and reading the bible since he got in.” Bobby was insinuating he knew there was stuff going on with the angels that they weren’t telling him. But he wasn’t pushing that either.

“I ain’t running a halfway house here, Sam.” They both knew he loved when they visited but he was trying to tell Sam to come fix this.

He hung up the phone, and went back inside to pretend not to keep an eye on Dean, who had the whole bottle in his hand while he read revelations and tried not to think about Castiel and the things they’d been discussing lately.

About Mom and the deal she made. About the demon blood in Sam. About how soft Dad had been despite his military background prehunting days. About Samuel, and Deanna. About how badly he wished Sam could have been there with him. How much it would’ve helped him.

He brought the whiskey out into the yard and he halfheartedly started giving Baby a drunk shining. It felt good to bake in the sun while dehydrating. Made him feel as worn out on the outside as he felt on the inside.

The kinship between him and Bobby wasn't the same as what he and Dean had. Sam was beginning to wonder if he'd always have issues with father figures but that line of thought wouldn't lead anywhere good so he hung up the phone and went back out to Ruby. 

He sought the comfort of her body, taking his frustrations out because he knew she could handle it. 

When they were done, he parted ways to boost a car from a few parking lots over and he started to make the long, long drive to Bobby's. It gives him time to think, cool off a little, but it was difficult to not get spun up in the same loops of logic and frustration. Why didn't Dean understand? Why couldn't he trust that Sam knew what he was doing?

Deep down he knew why, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. 

When Dean was good and buzzed, the tips of his ears and tops of his cheeks pink from the sun, Castiel appeared. Seeing him during the day was a first, but it didn't really affect the air of calm determination about him. 

“You confronted him.” Not a question. Cas gave the vague impression that they were always silently watching. “Do you think he will stop?”

Dean had switched to water at some point, but he didn’t feel anymore sober. 

“You could call it that.” He answered, looking up at the way the light was falling around Cas. He hesitated over the question, though.

“I don’t even know what he’s really doing, Cas. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Nevermind if he’ll stop or how to make him. You don't know how pigheaded my brother is.” He shook his head, heaving the mostly empty water bottle out of release from the anger Sam made him feel.

The lie hurt more than what he was doing. But he wasn’t about to go along admitting that. Least of all to Cas. 

“You got anything for me? Or did you just come to say you told me so?” He hadn’t wanted to believe in any of this, didn't want to believe Sam was doing bad. 

Castiel took pause at the question, hesitating for a beat which was odd for him. Why had he come? Not to say ‘I told you so’ he knew this would be a hard pill for Dean to swallow and he held no joy in feeding it to him. So why?

He'd been retrieving an item of importance nearby...stopping to see Dean had been more of a reflex really. Drawn like a moth to flame. But angels didn't run on things like impulse or reflex. The fact that he’d done it so easily frightened him a little. 

“No.” 

The place where Cas had been standing was vacated so swiftly a burst of air ruffled Dean's clothes a little. He left with the sound of wings rustling. 

Dean scoffed, kicked some dirt, and he got himself up again to keep cleaning Baby. He was doing the interior now, wiping down the leather and pulling things out of the backseat that belonged in the trunk.

When Sam arrived, it was dusk, and Bobby just pointed outback without looking up from the book he was reading.

And in the lot, Dean had all of Baby’s doors open, music playing. There was a quarter left in the whiskey bottle, a couple of thrown empty water bottles, and Dean was passed out in the backseat with his jeans and a thin tshirt on.

Sam knew enough about Dean that he couldn't just come in here and reignite the argument again. His brother had likely exhausted his anger during their time apart and now he would be in that quiet, brooding phase. He'd talk in little spurts when the emotions came to a head. 

For now, he launched a folded newspaper at his brother’s lap while he was sleeping, nailing him right in the junk. 

“I found a case.” As much as it pained him, Dean did better when they acted like nothing was wrong. Sam wanted to do something besides sit around anyway. The lead was thin, just a vague call from another hunter in need. But it was a state over and they'd driven further on less. 

The sound Dean made was quiet and part surprised, part…. something. He was groggy when he set eyes on Sam, scrubbing a hand over his face and hair. He felt like a ton of bricks hit him in the face. 

“Was Ruby busy or something?” He can’t help but be passive aggressive as he climbed out of the car. But he glossed over it with questions about the so called case and Bobby had self destructive Dean out of his house by morning along for the hunt with Sam. 

When they started the drive he spoke up, voice pitched quiet and serious. The argument lay dormant for now.

“Cas, uh… he shot me back in time, man. To when Mom and Dad were young.” He wasn’t really sure how to start. It sounded crazy, but it was true.

“I met them. And Mom’s parents too. They were hunters. Can you believe that? Mom was a hunter.”

It's not what he’d thought they'd talk about (really he hadn’t expected Dean to say much at all besides fight over which roads would be best to take--an argument Sam was convinced they would take to their graves) but he's a little stunned by the idea. 

“What was she like?” He didn't bother asking about John, just assumed that the dad he knew had to be the only way he'd ever been. Sam didn't grow up with those first few years of popcorn and movies on the couch and tossing a baseball at the park like Dean had. To him John had always been cold, hard, and angry. 

“Why didn't dad ever mention it?” The implications this had were huge. Had she done something to draw the demon's attention before he'd even been born? Sam had no clue how right he was. 

“I don’t think he knew, Sam. She was great.” Dean looked a little wistful. “A real cool chick.” He smiled a little, keeping an eye on the road. “She really reminded me of you.” He felt weird admitting it outloud. But with the bomb that was going to drop, Sam needed to hear some good. “No one was telling her what to do. Grandpa didn’t like Dad. Thought he was too soft.” Which amused Dean. “Samuel, you know. And Grandma was Deanna. We’re named after old folk.” He elbowed Sam, chancing a look at him. 

There was a hesitation. 

“Yellow eyes was there.” He sighed. “Almost had that son of a bitch, too.” He squeezed the steering wheel, slowing down a little as he looked over at Sam.

“He killed Dad. Got Mom to deal with him. But she didn’t know what she was agreeing to Sam. She had no idea he was going to hurt you.” He had no idea that Sam already knew what Yellow Eyes did to him.

Sam's mind felt like it was going a mile a minute now with all of this new information. First he learns that she was a hunter from a family of them, and now she made a deal? 

So this hadn't started with him, not really. 

“He traded a life just to bleed in my mouth?” Usually something that big, it came at the cost of your soul. Sam didn't even realize he'd let it slip he knew. The demon had shown him during the special kids murder camp last year when trying his sales pitch for the demon army. Yet another thing he'd been keeping from Dean because he knew his brother would be revolted by the idea. 

But learning about Mary's deal had his guard lowered in a big way. It had escaped his Dean filter before he'd really even thought of it. 

Sam drops it in so casually, Dean really had to think for a moment. His face didn’t hide his confusion as he tried to remember when they’d talked about this before coming up with: they hadn’t. 

“Sam, i didn’t say anything about demon blood.” It wasn’t exactly accusatory, Dean seemed genuinely knocked on his ass that Sam had another lie, and this one so long kept.

Whatever wall had been down between them, shot right back up.

“Save it. I’m so sick of hearing you backpedal.” He revved the engine and sped up, eager to get to work.

They focused on the job and didn’t try to talk to each other again unless it was about the case. They were good at this, at pretending nothing was going on. 

That doesn’t mean that Dean doesn’t take shots at Sam passive aggressively through conversation with others. Namely about family being important, and how close he and Sam were. 

Not as close as he thought apparently. 

“Look, are you sure you’re okay? Just because you’ve got a little evil in you, and you’re functioning and not harming people doesn’t mean all the monsters we meet might be the same.” Dean stepped all over his feelings as they drove to try it Sam’s way. 

Dean was at least willing to talk to the guy like Sam wanted to.

There's an emptiness to Sam's voice as he tried to hide the sting. Dean had no idea what he was doing, but it didn't mean his words didn't affect him. 

“This has nothing to do with the case, Dean.” He focused on the streets passing by, worrying the edge of his shirt with his fingers. How Dean managed to always make him feel like a helpless little kid amazed him. “I just don't think we should torch a guy who's done nothing wrong.” 

Sure, he said it wasn't about them, but the example couldn't be more clear. This boiled down to Dean and his black and white thinking (one of which a lot of hunters shared) and Sam being able to exist in shades of grey. People did monstrous things all the time but they didn't run around putting them all down. Just because someone was unnatural didn't mean they would harm people. 

“I hear you. But if we don’t, and he does hurt someone, that’s on us, too.” Dean reminded him. “I just want to know that if we go and talk to him, and things don’t look good, that you’re going to be able to do what needs to be done.” 

He gave him that Dad look Sam hated. Dean couldn’t help it, it was just a part of him to treat Sam this way. 

It's a look that never failed to irritate Sam, it had when their father did it and even more so now with Dean doing it. Like he could really boss him around now. 

Sam's jaw ticked, a short annoyed breath passing through his nose as he looked away. Had it been five years ago that sigh might've even been accompanied by an eye roll but as it were he just fumed in the passenger seat. 

His response was flat and dry: “Yeah, Dean.” 

The talk doesn't...exactly go well. Sam tried his tender approach, and Dean was frustratingly blunt but the guy doesn't seem keen on believing them despite being so clearly shocked that they'd named the symptoms that had likely been plaguing him lately. They parted ways with plans to trail him and make sure he stayed out of trouble. 

Travis wouldn't like it, but he had called them for help and this was how Sam intended on helping. 

They prowled around in the Impala as the guy bar hopped, and Sam reread the lore book he'd found mentions of rougarous in. Everything pointed to it being possible to resist the change. He just hoped Mr. Montgomery had it in him. 

Which is why it was such an absolute let down to see him stalking some poor woman. Dean snapped into action first, pawing around in the backseat for their makeshift flamethrowers and they both booked it across the street and into the apartment building. Dean kicked in the front door, shattering the door jam (adrenaline was funny like that, he'd seen Dean struggle opening a rusted folding chair at Bobby's last month) and were met with...the woman screaming at the two sudden intruders who busted in her front door. 

“We should go.” Sam wasn't to keen on being picked up from b&e they were supposed to be dead to the law. 

Dean’s embarrassed about breaking the lock when Jack wasn't even here. But Sam was right, they just needed to get outta here fast. 

They decide to check Jack’s house one last time, and that doesn’t go quite the way they planned.

When it was all over, Dean felt like he’d been kind of a bad big brother with all of this. No wonder Sam didn’t tell him anything.

“I’m sorry i’ve been giving you a hard time. Your powers just scare the crap out of me, Sammy. I don’t want anything to happen to you, you’re all i have.”

Hearing Dean apologize loosened something in his chest. Like a taut string being cut. He sucked in a breath, finally feeling like they would be okay. 

“Nothings going to happen to me Dean. I know what I'm doing, I promise.” Sam truly believed that; had no reason not to with Ruby feeding him every thing he wanted (and needed) to hear. 

“You said it yourself, we need to stop Lilith. That's all I'm trying to do.” Without anger in both of their words, the whole thing sounded more reasonable. 

He reached over and turned the radio up on the Bad Company tape Dean had in, knowing his brother had hit his quota for feelings talk. Sam sunk a little lower in the bucket sleep, and for the first time in days (since their little talk on the couch) he slept deep and restful.

There were bigger things than Dean’s feelings at work here. The angels didn’t like what Sam was doing, it scared them too. But was it what Sam was doing, or Ruby?

They drove for hours and when they finally stopped, Dean didn’t go to bed. He stayed out in the parking lot and feeling like an idiot, he looked at the sky.

“Cas?” It probably looked as stupid as it felt. “I gotta talk to you, man.”

The night was quiet and still, only the distant sound of cars on the interstate a few miles off. It had recently stormed and the air still carried the smell of ozone. Dean waited long enough to probably feel like a fool before Castiel finally showed. 

Empty space beside him one moment, there the next. He didn't even look rumpled. 

“What is it, Dean?” There was no agitation in his tone, but he was as straightforward as always. Right to the point, no chit chat. He had been busy trying to tie up some loose ends that would ensure at least some of the seals couldn't be broken. But for every ten they secured, Lilith had twenty more to choose from. It was exhausting, not to mention a losing battle. She was the embodiment of cunning for a reason. 

Dean felt a warmth in his upper arm almost immediately. Nothing that would’ve been too noticeable if there wasn’t such a good breeze after the storm.

“It’s Sam.” He answered, cutting right to the point in turn. “I don’t think he’s going to stop. He said it saves people.” He wasn’t sold yet but he knew when he had lost.

“And maybe he is, you know, these people, these vessels,”as cas called it,”they don't have to die.” He was trying to see Sam’s side of it.

“I can’t stop him. But i may be able to get rid of his demon girlfriend. Would that be enough? For you to leave Sam alone?”

He was turning to Cas for help.

“He’s my brother. He’s an idiot, but he means well. He believes in God and all that. He wants to work with the good guys.”

For once, Cas didn't seem to have the answers. He looked at Dean for a long time, seeing how he struggled with wanting to save Sam from this but protect him from everyone else at the same time. 

“That isn't up to me.” He said finally, releasing their gaze. “His fate is out of my hands.” Before Dean could rail against such passiveness, Castiel was quick to soothe the sting. “But perhaps getting rid of the demon would help.” 

It sure couldn't hurt, and who knew maybe being away from her influence was all Sam would need to pull off the dark path he was taking. They knew of the demon blood, more so than even Dean knew. But cutting off the source was idea. 

It’s frustrating but Dean knew enough about Cas just in their short meetings to know that he meant well. He was giving him what he could.

“I’ll work on it. Just- if there’s anything you can do, anything you could say to anyone— Sammy’s not going dark as long as i’m here. It’s not going to happen. He’s good.” It’s the most conviction Castiel has seen from him.

If Dean was passionate about anything, if there was anything he believed in- it was Sam. The center of his world. He protected the people he cared about and Sam had the numero uno spot.

“Thanks for uh… not leaving me standing here.” He joked nervously, finding it impossible to look away from Cas and those big blue eyes.

“And Cas? If they do something to Sam, i’m not helping, I don’t care if i have to go back to hell.” It was definitely a threat and he turned to head back in the room before Sam came looking for him.

Castiel is left watching Dean leave for a change, and the ruffle of feathers was quiet enough that by the time Dean reached the door the parking lot was empty and still once more. 

In the room, Sam was still awake and sitting at the small table with a book propped open. His laptop was out but it was closed, which meant he hadn't found any good leads. He wasn't sure he would've been able to tell a good one from a bad right now anyway. Sam was distracted and antsy. They'd spent two days tangled up in that rougarou business and he hadn't been able to get away long enough for a visit with Ruby. 

He rubbed at his eyes, pushing the book away. 

“I'm going to stretch my legs. Don't wait up.” He snagged one of the room keys and patted his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and Ruby's knife. 

“Cas was here.” Dean said it like that was reason for Sam to stop getting ready to leave, but it hadn’t had that effect. Dean could be so bad at getting his point across sometimes. 

“We should talk.” He tried instead. “When you get back, i guess. We have somethings to talk about.”

Dean was acting weird but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know a lot about the angels which made him on edge to think of them as a possible threat.

There was a beat where Sam paused at the door, one hand on the handle. Cas was here, and now Dean wanted to talk? Thus didn't bode well. He was half tempted to cancel on Ruby, push it off til later. If this was going to be a fight he didn't need to go into it all roided up. He'd end up doing something he regretted. 

“Something wrong?” His brows creased, giving Dean those big puppy eyes. They just got over a pretty massive fight, it was all over his face he didn't want to jump into it again. Sam had thought they'd found understanding. 

“Yeah, i think so.” Dean didn’t look like he had it in him to be angry, at least not now.

He was trusting Sam because he didn’t know what else to do. But the outcome of doing that was a big unknown.

“I told you, the angels, whoever Cas answers to, they said if I can’t stop you from going dark, they will.” He repeated. “If what you’re doing is helping people, then i get it. I do. But maybe what they’re worried about is Ruby. And what she may or may not influence you to do.” He knew he had to be careful because Sam knew he hated Ruby.

“We gotta cut ties with her, man. I really don’t want to have to stand between you and heaven. We won’t win.”

Sam's frown was deep and immediate. Round and round in circles they went. Not even a full twenty four hours and they were already back to this. Only this time he knew it was the angel on Dean's shoulder who had changed his mind. 

“Ruby's done nothing but help us.” He let go of the door handle, if only because it had been creaking in his grasp. “She wants to stop Lilith just as much as we do.” 

In his pocket, his phone vibrated. Ruby was here, no doubt waiting for him in the bar he'd picked. The one he knew Dean wouldn't ever think to step foot in. 

“Sam, i’m not trying to argue here. I just don’t think Ruby is worth the wrath of Cas and angels more powerful than him.” Dean stated his case. 

“She may have been helpful, but she’s still a demon, Sam. She has her own motivations, we just don’t know what they are. And that should scare you as much as it scares them.”

For once, Dean wasn’t angry. He seemed kind of defeated tonight, stressed over this whole angel business. He didn’t want to know what their way handling it was. 

“Just—- think about it some more, man.” He opened his hands in question. “Can you do that for me?” He started unlacing his boots, looking so much older in these moments.

Whatever had happened to Dean lately, in hell, in the flashback—- it was taking a toll on him.

He stripped his shirt and there was Cas’ hand mottled and red still.

“Yeah Dean, I'll think about it.” He let go of some of his anger in the face of Dean's almost defeat. “I'll be back in a bit.” Sam slipped out the door and into the night, feeling off kilter from seeing Dean like this. Nothing shook his brother, why was this getting to him so bad?

He met up with Ruby, feeling guilty for just as long as it took them to find somewhere private. Then there was just the heat in his veins and the rush of power. They fall into one another as they often do, sex and blood went hand in hand for Sam now. 

When he returned to the hotel room he was less anxious, but he looked more alert than before. He stripped off his shirt as he passed Dean's bed and he kicked the door closed to the bathroom between them as he started up the shower. Sam had a pretty strong feeling Dean would be more angry than he knew what to do with if he figured out he just left to go have sex with Ruby after being told the angels wanted her gone. 

Dean had been lightly sleeping until Sam came in, down to his briefs on top of the covers, a book open next to him.

He blinked at the closed bathroom door, giving an exhausted sort of sigh as he sat up. He knew Sam was hiding things from him still. But he was so tired of fighting with him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He turned onto his stomach as he laid back down, opening the book and reading more about the angels, wondering how much of it was actually true. Like Cas said, they hadn’t walked Earth in thousands of years, it was mostly speculation.

Dean had a feeling he knew where Sam went on his leg stretching adventures but he didn’t want to believe it. 

When Sam came out, Dean’s head was pilowed on his arms, partially over the book, looking like despite his mind trying to keep him awake, his body kept giving in to the need to sleep.

It didn’t look very peaceful, though. Even his brows were furrowed.

Just Sam opening the bathroom door had him forcing over and onto his back. He wasn’t usually the tossing and turning type.

He didn’t bring up Ruby the next day. He wasn’t the nagging type. They just got on the road while Sam looked for a case and they went wherever something looked fishy. 

A few days went by, no angel visits thus far but there was still time. Dean knew Cas would show up when he wanted to.

He always did.

Understandably, Ruby laid low for a few days, and Sam tried not to pick any fights during that time. Things were easier when Dean believed his little brother had listened and taken him to heart. Which couldn't be further from the truth, but Sam maintained that he wasn't hurting anyone. Quite the opposite really considering what he was doing with his gifts. 

They get drunk together at a bar one night. Between jobs and lush with money from hustling a mean game of pool, Sam sees Dean smile, a genuine laugh for the first time since he'd been back. The men they hustled tried to pick a fight, but Dean diffused the situation (for once Sam had been the one standing, flexing his knuckles and ready) but they got the boot anyway. 

It didn't matter. Dean grabbed them a six pack and a bottle of hooch on the way back to the motel and they sat in the parking lot, Sam perched on a parking divider, Dean on the front of the Impala. The perfect kind of cool night with no breeze to cut through you. 

Sam just wants to keep his brother laughing and smiling, there hasn't been enough of that lately. His inhibitions are low, or maybe it was temporary insanity from seeing his brother happy, but Sam does something stupid. Something he can't take back. 

He chucked one of the beer bottles in the air across the lot and pointed his fingers at it like a gun, on queue it exploded and rained down glittering pieces. The perfect quick draw. He looked to Dean, amused and oddly giddy at the display but his expression fell when he was met with fear. 

“Dean.” His heart lurched painfully in his chest and he scrambled up, knocking over the beer he'd been sipping on for the last hour. He hated the cheap stuff Dean bought. “Dean wait.” Showing Dean this, how easy it was to use his abilities (he'd never been able to move anything before as far as Dean knew) was such a big mistake. 

There was no coming back from this, he would never escape the sheer disappointment and fear on his brother’s face. 

“Forget it.” He told him, undercurrent to his voice that compelled Dean to obey. Just like Andy and his brother. “Forget it happened Dean.”

It’s the unknowing that scares Dean the most. If Sam was honest with him, showed him what he could do, eased him into it— he would still have the creeps but he would be able to handle it and get used to it.

Seeing it like this, so casually used when Dean hadn’t known Sam to be able to do much of anything save for have nightmares and apparently exorcise demons. 

He’s angry with Sam for lying. Why couldn’t he just be honest with him.

They go down wrestling when Sam tried to stop him, but they make eye contact while Sam was uttering those words and it stuck.

On his back on the pavement, Sam over him, Dean almost looked embarrassed, hands twisted in his shirt.

“What’re…” he eyed Sam’s lips. “What’re we doing?” 

Had he blacked out drinking and made a move on his brother?

He felt the cool air and the rock under his back.

“I’m not hillbilly enough to wanna do it in the dirt, Sam.” He joked, not knowing how to get himself out of this situation.

Sam's heart is in his throat the whole time and he looks petrified. If Dean had blacked out and come on to him, his reaction didn't bode well. He let go of his brother's shirt and his forearm because until a few seconds ago Dean had been pushing him away, and he left Dean there on the ground beside the car. 

When Dean finally drug himself in the room, Sam was in the bathroom vomiting noisily. Not from drunkenness, no this was pure guilt turning his stomach to acid. He’d never intended on using his powers on Dean. Any of them. It was worse than throwing a punch because at least then Dean had two fists to throw one back. But he couldn't fight against this. 

He would be better, he resolved, lay off the drinking. Remain in control at all times. No more opportunities for mistakes.

It hurts Dean deep in his core. His brother was disgusted with him, what had he done? He couldn’t sit here and listen to Sam get sick over it. He ran from it, driving the impala just out of town. 

And he ‘prayed’ to Cas, asking the sky why God saved him. Why Cas saved him, when he was such a bad person. A sinner. He had feelings for his brother of all people in the world. He’s held onto that secret for all of his twenty eight years. Never told anyone or God, acted on it. Though there were a few awkward moments when they were teenagers and pent up in hotel rooms together for too long, but nothing ever happened. 

Why now? How was he going to look Sam in the eye again?

Dramatically he had the frustrated thought that he should be sent back to Hell. This was all a mistake. Three times now, he’d been brought back when he wasn’t supposed to be. 

He sat on the curb, head in his hands as he tried to cope with what did or didn’t happen.

Dean probably hadn't been expecting a response, but when he lifted his head from his hands Castiel was there. Silent and watchful as ever. 

“I knew.” His voice though even, was hushed. Castiel could tell Dean was overwhelmed, flighty, upset. He tried to handle this as delicately as he could. “When I touched your soul in hell.” And yet he hadn't said a word or admonished him for said feelings. 

Nor had he shared this revelation with any of the other angels; though he suspected a few in intake knew. Both Winchester boys shared one slice of heaven and that only meant one thing. 

He stayed standing, looking more at the stillness of the world around them on this empty back road. Dean didn't seem to want an audience for his breakdown, so he gave him some semblance of privacy while still being present. 

“I won't pretend to know what God thinks about it, but our orders were to save you, both of you, from what's coming. And those orders come from him.”

Dean rolled his eyes a little, shoulders falling in defeat. Great. Now Cas was going to get in on his embarrassment.

“No offense, Cas. But i don’t give a rats ass what God thinks about it.” He looked up at Cas looking anywhere but him, respectfully. “But Sam.” His lip threatened to tremble but he got ahold of it. He wasn’t going to cry in front of him. “I care what Sam thinks. I never wanted him to know.” He rubbed a hand over his face and stood up, feeling too heavy with emotion to be around anyone right now. 

Was he supposed to apologize? Pretend it never happened? Should he just split? He didn’t know what the right answer was. 

Somehow, Cas doubted this would make or break Sam’s relationship with his brother but he decided it wouldn't make a difference to Dean hearing it from anyone but his brother. He let silence pass between them for a few moments, breeze ruffling his coat gently. 

“Will you be alright?” He had other places to be, but if Dean needed him here he would stay. There just wasn't much he could do to help he knew nothing on mortals and their love. Only an outside perspective from years of standing watch. 

When Cas asked his question, Dean kind of paused. He stopped and just looked at Cas questioningly. He really came just to check on him. Not because he had intel or was truly answering his obvious complaining. He came to check on Dean. 

“I’ll be fine. I am fine.” He was mostly trying to tell himself that. 

He turned like he was going to get back in his car and drive away, but at the last moment he turned to ask Cas if he always had a ear or an eye on him- but he was already gone. For the best, probably. It wasn’t a question Dean was sure he wanted answered.

He stayed out all night, just trying to steel himself back up so he could go face Sam. He showed up at the hotel in the morning with coffee and breakfast, and when his eyes fell on Sam, he just said,”You find a case yet?”

It seemed pretending it never happened was the decision Dean made, and he hoped Sam rolled with it.

Dean had missed Sam being hungover for the most part. He was showered, hair fuzzy and almost dry, and there was an empty paper cup of water at his elbow. It had taken him an hour to get vertical this morning but he was up and about now. 

“Not yet. Maybe Bobby's got some leads. I meant to call him later.” He shrugged, easy as pie. Looks like mutual avoidance was a go. If only Sam knew what his brother thought had happened. Just another one of those times when instead of being on the same page they were looking in completely different books. 

Sam took the coffee gratefully, not even batting an eyelash at their fingers brushing. If he remembered anything about Dean coming on to him last night, he at least wasn't being flighty or weird about it. 

“You stink. Take a shower.” He hucked a clean towel he'd snagged while he was getting water this morning at Dean's chest. 

Dean jumped a little when Sam threw the towel at him, still a little off kilter from the touch of their fingers but he would get over it. It had been a long time since he allowed his feelings for Sam to reach the surface. He kept it packed way down where his Mommy issues lay. It was the only way to survive around Sam. He couldn’t allow himself to feel it all the time. 

It takes weeks and a couple of jobs for Dean to feel like it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, but he’s pretty good at hiding it. Too busy hiding it to notice anything up with Sam. 

The first time Dean feels solid with Sam, and unsure about his budding alliance with Castiel, and when they’re working a job around Halloween. He thought for sure it’d be Sam he was fighting with. His brother hated Halloween, and even more so- working on Halloween. 

But it’s Cas that Dean finds himself on the fence with. 

It’s Sam’s first time meeting him, and Dean can’t help but feel regretful that it isn’t a better meeting. He’d given Cas the greenlight with Sam. Told him he was good, that he felt safe trusting him. And then he goes up and shows up with an asshat Dean’s never seen, ready to smite the town. 

Purify. Whatever. Kill over a thousand people. And Dean and Sam agree to stand strongly against the idea. They don’t even have to talk about it, they just share a look and begin to argue like they were the same person. 

He turned on Cas. 

“Cas, You know i can do this. You know we can save everyone. It doesn’t have to be this way.” And he feels so justified in trusting him when Cas gives them time to work it out. He grabs Sam by the arm and they got moving, fast. 

It wasn’t all talk, he and Sam worked well under pressure. Maybe even better than usual, and they did exactly as they promised- together. Even if Sam used the powers that the angels had been trying to get Dean to get him to stop using, it helped. He’d used them for good like he kept telling Dean all long. And as far as he knew, Ruby was long gone. 

Only Uriel can’t quite bite his tongue about it, no matter what Castiel said. 

While Cas was busy visiting with his charge, Uriel dropped in on demon blood boy. 

“Consider this a warning, Sam Winchester.” He greeted after the rustle of his arrival, likely startling him. “The moment you become more trouble that you are worth, i will turn you to dust myself.” He was unwavering, and held a hatred in his gaze. He loathed what Sam was.

“I wonder if your brother would defend you as fiercely as he does if he knew what you were doing with that demon Ruby behind his back.” It sounded mildly like a threat. But then he went ahead and blew Dean’s cover. “You should ask your brother what he remembers about his forty years in Hell. Knock him off that high horse of his. You’re both unworthy of the attention you’ve been given. And Time will prove that.” 

Before Sam could even argue, Uriel was gone. He hadn’t come to chat, just to tilt his chin up at them since he didn’t get to purify the town like he wanted. Remind them how lowly they were. Get them fighting, maybe, put them off track.

“Why are you here, Cas?” Dean asked, still a little miffed about their original plan, even if it was mostly soothed by Cas listening to him. He liked that Cas believed in him, it made him feel good. He couldn’t explain it. 

The whole ordeal really brings it home how different angels are from what he expected. They were sort of… dicks. He couldn't get behind their idea of weighing the lives of hundreds of people against one seal. Sam was just glad Dean was in the same boat, he'd been worried considering how close he seemed to be getting to “Cas”.

Uriel's warning is meant to scare him, and it does a little, but he can't help but feel like it was an empty threat. Whether that was his ego talking or not, if the angels wanted Dean's help bad enough to raise him from hell they sure weren't going to get it if they killed Sam. They would have made an enemy of their important pawn. 

He’s left to himself, a little spun out. Dean had been lying about hell. But the angels knew about the demon blood. There was no question anymore. If Uriel told Dean on a whim, nothing would save him from his brother’s wrath. 

On a bench, warm in the sun is where he finds Dean. Castiel watched the children running, tugging their parents along and the young joggers. It was a lively place to celebrate such a disappointing win. They'd only won half the battle, Samhain was back in hell but the seal was broken regardless. 

“Our orders,” he paused, interrupted by Dean assuming he was here to gloat about being right. “Our orders weren't to stop the summoning.” 

Really, he shouldn't be telling him this. Yet another slip of information that he felt Dean needed to know because he wanted him to understand why he did what he did. Castiel shouldn't have to explain himself, but Dean made him want to be understood. 

“They were to do whatever you told us to do. It was a test.” He watched it sink in, adding to the already crushing burden on his shoulders. “To see how you would perform under...battlefield conditions.”

A test? Dean didn’t know how to feel about it and he completely took it the wrong way. Enough so that he looked a little mystified when Castiel said he was rooting for him. That Dean made the choice he’d hoped he would. His expression softened, his body language changed, and Dean seemed to finally have his guard down around the angel. 

“You were rooting for me? I thought you weren’t supposed to have your own ideas or feelings or anything?” It wasn’t said rudely, Dean seemed genuinely curious about the interest and support Cas was giving him. After meeting Uriel, he was secure in the notion that Cas, at least when it came to Dean and the bond they ignored,was different. 

Cas leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at the vibrant life around them. He knew why Dean had come here, to be surrounded by the proof that he'd made the right choice in saving these people. 

“Can I tell you something, if you promise not to tell another soul?” Speaking this into existence was frightening but Cas felt like Dean was the only one who would understand.

“I'm not a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have...doubts.” There was a shiver of unease as he finally admitted it outloud, and in the back of his mind he waited for a smiting that didn't come. “I don't know what's right or wrong anymore or whether you passed or failed here.” 

He looked to Dean finally, finding some sort of solace in the fact that he was there and listening. Castiel knew the gravity of this confession didn't mean much to Dean, but he was glad it was finally off his chest. This past month, descending to hell and Earth had been a trying, confusing time for him. Since the moment he touched Dean Winchester it was like someone had taken the finely oiled machine of his existence and fed it a bucket of rocks. 

“In the coming months you'll be faced with more decisions to make.” Cas’ gaze softened a little until he looked away, out at the sunny day. “I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean.” He sounded genuine, like he too was dreading what was approaching. 

It’s the first time Cas has used their conversation to speak somewhat about himself, so Dean is all ears. It’s not what he’s expecting, at all. But it makes him feel closer to Cas in a way. He didn’t know just how big this was, but he recognized it as vulnerable pretty easily. And he knew that must be difficult. 

They looked at one another, connected for these moments, and instead of looking away like he had the urge to, Dean put a hand on Cas’ shoulder in reassurance. 

“Sometimes it just comes down to instinct. You just know what to do.” It was the only advice he knew to offer. “You agreed with me.” Instead of saying something meaningful like that it meant a lot, he took it where Dean always took it,”So you must have good instincts,”He gave a wink, and Cas’ shoulder a pat before he let him go and looked out at the people they saved enjoying the park.

With the benefit of time, they would learn what the other needed but for now, Castiel was left feeling a bit unsteady. Dean’s comfort had been well intended but misplaced on Cas. This wasn't about him it was about Dean and the way he made him feel. How he made him want to question things he would've never even thought of before. 

When Dean glanced back at the bench, Cas was gone and the park seemed to empty out a little as lunch time drew near. 

Sam was back at the room, their bags packed already because he knew Dean would want to tear out of here after the absolute mess this case had been. 

Dean is distracted when he meets back up with Sam, but not in a worrisome sort of way. They both could get a little spacey when things went south. It wasn’t unheard of. 

The most telling thing for Sam should be that asking about Dean lying doesn’t start an argument. He doesn’t push the way he did when he had nothing to hide. He just evades and denies and starts tugging Sam along into work. 

Lucky for him, it’s not an easy case and Sam’s futile attempt to get the truth out of him was long forgotten. For the time being, when it mattered.

The difference between Sam and Dean was never more vast than when Sam pushed for a third time. Sam was so stubborn he never would’ve broken without getting caught. But Sam pushes Dean to the edge and he finally crumbled. 

“I remember, okay? I remember all of it. And it was fucking terrible. But i’m not going to talk about it.” Dean spoke firm and final. “I won’t lie anymore, but just don’t make me talk about it, Sammy. It’s hard enough having it up here.” He gestured to his own head. Nevermind out in the open between them. “You can’t make it better.” 

No amount of talking would fix it. 

“Happy?”

It's not the answer he wants, but Sam knows better than to keep pushing this very moment. So he let it go, reluctantly, sighing through his nose as he watched mile markers fly by in the dark. 

“Fine.” He still needed to know how bad it was. That self loathing Winchester streak inside wanted to know exactly how much Dean had suffered for him. 

“You should pull off, let me drive for a bit.” He said after a while, aware that Dean hadn't slept well last night because he'd been awake and waiting to sneak out when Dean finally tanked but the moment never came. 

“Nah. I’m good.” Dean was stubborn for a while longer before he let Sam take over but it was only to have nightmares in the passenger seat. 

They’re going the motions but there’s a tangible tension between them once more and it only gets worse when Ruby shows up. Dean lets Sam push and pull him around but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He’s petulant and upset the whole time. But his world kind of spins and falls on it’s axis when they bumped into Alastair. 

There’s definitely a history there. 

Dean isn’t acting afraid, but Sam knows him so well, probably sees the way Dean’s guarding. This guy was to be feared. And Dean knew that all to well. They had been close in hell, too close. Alastair breathing down his neck while he peeled the flesh back on some poor tortured soul , close. And his presence brought up all of these fucked up thoughts inside of Dean. 

When Sam all but suggests running, Dean is helpless but to follow. They’re both horribly banged up, and not just physically. Dean sat on his bed, shoulder dislocated and drinking whiskey while he tried to make the thoughts stop. He wished Castiel was here, and he doesn’t even know where that thought came from. As if Cas being here would make it better.

“Hurry up, my shoulder’s kind of dislocated over here.”

Playing in the realm of angels and demons was a whole different ball game. It felt way beyond their pay grade. Sam was just glad they'd escaped with their lives, even if they were a bit banged up, and that Ruby had Anna somewhere. Hopefully safe. 

His hand shook as he passed the needle through the tender edge of his sliced skin. He was lucky this time, it was a nice clean line instead of a jagged mess though he hadn't felt lucky pulling out the shard of glass that’d impaled him. 

He had half a mind to tell Dean to fuck off, doing your own stitches was pretty damn hard, but he also knew how bad the dislocation hurt. So he clenched his jaw, steadied his hand once more and bit out that he was hurrying. 

Sam pulled the last knot tight with his teeth and was immediately reaching for the bottle Dean was nursing. A little for his arm, more for his gut and then he was getting up to help his brother. They've both done this enough times to know where to hold, and he marveled not for the first time at how well his hands fit into place on Dean. It almost felt like the grooves of his body were designed with him in mind. 

“On three. One, t-” He jerked the appendage back into place in one quick push, feeling the way it slotted back in willingly. It would hurt like a bitch for a while but at least he hadn't torn anything. 

“You knew him.” He watched Dean's back as he tossed a swig of the bottle back. 

It hurt like a bitch but it felt better once it settled than it had sitting out of it’s rightful spot. He’s relishing in the relief from the pain, and trying to keep those thoughts at bay and then Sam ruins it.

He sighed, exhausted and unwilling.

“Nah, he knew me.” To Dean there was a difference. He told Sam he didn’t want to talk about this, ever. Just because a demon said he knew him didn’t mean Dean wanted to talk to him about it.

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend who he is. Since she’s so loyal and trusted. I’m sure she’d love to tell you all about it, her being like family to you and all.”

It was said with such disdain. 

“Hey, make sure she knows the angels have your number, you’ll need her to protect you when they come calling. She’ll die for you, right?”

Dean had. Just another sharp reminder. 

“She’ll be tortured for you?”

While he complained, Dean was making himself a sling out of one of Sam’s oversized shirts to remind him to not move his arm, at least for tonight. He didn’t even bother putting a new shirt on. 

They needed to get out of dodge as soon as they were packed up, and by the sounds of it, it was gonna be a long ride of silent tension.

Sam's jaw flexed, but he kept his anger to himself. In his eyes, Dean wasn't being very fair. Ruby had done nothing but help them still, she helped them find Anna. 

He slapped some gauze on his arm and started packing up without an offer to help Dean tie the shirt in place. If he wanted to be an ass he could fix himself. 

By the bottom of the hour they were back in the car, scoping out a new motel on the outskirts of town to lay low in. Sam still upheld that Ruby would contact them with Anna's location when it was safe but Dean seemed sure their angel radio girl was dead. 

“Dean.” Castiel was there, standing beside Dean at the trunk of the Impala. “Where is the girl?” He seemed gravely serious. 

Sam was inside securing the room. And Dean was wearing a heavy coat over himself to hide the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Ruby’s got her and don’t give me any shit cause i’m not happy about it either.”

When Sam emerged with the key, Dean followed, expecting Cas would follow as well.

Inside, he shrugged the jacket off, ditched the sling and took a shirt out of Sam’s bag since he hadn’t brought his in.

They weren’t even speaking to each other.

In front of Cas, Dean eased into the button up and began to close it.

“Sam, would you like to explain to our angel friend where Anna is?” He wanted Sam to deal with what he was dealing with. He was the one having to face the angels distrust of Ruby. He was the one constantly stressed about it. It was time Sam dealt with it instead since he was the one that kept inviting her into their lives.

Cas turned grave eyes on Sam, and the younger Winchester looked a little put on the spot. 

“She's with Ruby laying low.” He suddenly was filled with so much regret over getting involved with this. Angels made things more complicated and more tense than need be. 

“Anna Milton cannot be allowed to exist.” Castiel looked between the two of them. She posed a threat too great for the angels to overlook. Not only was she a rogue fallen angel, but now she was made flesh and tuned in to all of their precious secrets and plans. 

“You're going to kill her?” Yet again, they were on opposing sides. Angels were so quick to pass down judgement and Sam was losing the taste for it all. 

Once Cas realized they knew nothing about her location, he vanished without listening to any arguments they might've had. Sam sat on the end of one of the beds and raked a hand through his hair roughly. 

“We're in over our heads here man.” Demons and angels wanted this girl and they still didn't even know the real reason why. 

Dean could agree on that. They were in way over their heads. They sat in silence for a little bit.

“Alright, call your demon bitch girlfriend, no ones killing this girl. Not til we know she deserves it.” They at least had a common side this time. Demons and angels, Ruby and Cas aside— they didn’t kill humans without a reason. A good one.

They end up together at Bobby’s the ragtag bunch that they are. Anna makes Dean feel uneasy. It feels like when she looks at him, she sees right through everything he’s hiding.

They do what they can to find out what they angels weren’t telling them. And Dean tolerates Ruby’s presence if only because she was helping. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

When Anna presents the ultimatum from the angels, the attention fell on Dean.

In a moment of privacy it may have meant something, but Anna makes the mistake of speaking in front of Sam.

“You should forgive yourself for the things you did in Hell, Dean. You were only doing what you had to do. No human, not even you, could withstand that kind of torture forever.”

It makes his eyes sting, hearing her give his suffering away so easily to Sam when he’s tried so hard to keep it from him.

It’s a mess from there, Dean is left not really knowing what happened or who won or whose side they were on. If the angels even felt they were useful anymore.

He’d done what they wanted, even if things hadn’t gone their way after. He wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. But he would choose Sam over anyone. Even an innocent like Anna, who just wanted to experience the world.

And he’s left in the dead silence of it with Sam and nowhere to run from what happened anymore.

Sam doesn’t ask about Alastair, and he loves him for it. It makes it easier to open up, Dean always hated being pushed to talk.

“Time down there, Sammy… four months was like forty years.” He finally admitted.

“Alastair, he… took me apart piece by piece everyday for thirty years.” It was getting harder to share, but he needed to finally let this out.

“And everyday he would tell me that if i got off the rack and tortured for him, it would stop.” His voice got heavier with emotion.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Sam. I spent my last ten years ripping apart soul after soul for him. How can i ever forgive myself for that?” He was crying now, his beer set aside. “The things that i did…” he shook his head, looking at Sam.

“Anyone would've broken Dean.” Sam was hiding the absolute misery he felt inside hearing about Dean's time down there. The guilt of what his brother had gone through, what he'd failed to stop from happening, it was so intense. 

He reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder, grip lingering. Even Sam had tears in his eyes. The important thing was that it wasn't Dean's secret to bare alone now. His hand slipped off Dean's shoulder and they sat in silence for a while as they both sort of let go of how heavy the moment was. 

“I'm sorry.” He admitted, voice young and yet so heavy. “I'm so sorry I couldn't stop it Dean.”

“I know you are.” Dean knew his brother was just as self sacrificing as he was. It was a flaw. “But i’m not. I’d go there ten more times to keep you safe.” That was part of his struggle. Hell Was horrifying, but it was worth it to save Sam. 

A necessary evil. 

He felt more in control of himself now, his face dry, his voice steady. “You’re it, man. You’re everything to me. I gotta keep you safe.” And that was why he pushed so hard with Ruby.

“Your girlfriend did us a real solid this time. I’ll admit i may have been too quick to judge her. But Cas is right. These choices we have to make, they’re just going to get harder. We aren’t going to be able to keep this up.” Working with both sides. 

And he didn’t like what the future held.

After everything, he still wanted to talk to Castiel. The angel was struggling with right or wrong. He knew that. But he needed to know that Cas understood that he was doing what felt right to him. That he always did what felt right.

Uriel could go suck a dick, but there was something about Cas that made him pause.

They drove away in the sunset like a cliche and when they stopped for gas, Sam was tanked in the passenger seat.

Dean filled her up at the rest stop and went over to the main area to raid some vending machines.

“Hey Cas.” He asked the wind. “You wanna talk?”

Quicker than Dean could've expected, Cas was there standing just a few feet away. 

“Hello Dean.” He watched him feed the machine a crumpled one, taking it out to smooth it when it was inevitably spit out. Cas knew this Anna business wasn't exactly a shining moment for him or angels in general, but it had worked out in it's own weird way. Anna was still rogue but at least now any demon that got their hands on her would be sorry. They would still pursue her when they found the time. Stopping Lilith took precedence over everything. 

Still, he knew Dean would feel some kind of way about all of this and he fully expected his anger and questions. 

Now that it’s over, most of the anger was gone, but he was still wary. More than ever it was clear that Cas wasn’t making his own decisions. It didn’t matter how close they were.

“How pissed is Uriel, huh?” He tried to be cheeky but really it just showed how nervous Cas made him.

“Look i uh… i’m not good at this. You had your orders, i get that. I just— you get why i did what i did, right?” He was trying to make sure Cas wasn’t a new enemy. 

He liked to think he had an ally on this side of things. 

Dean rolled his shoulders, feeling the warmth in his arm from Castiel’s presence.

Castiel was reminded of their last private chat: a park bench in the sun, the freckles on Dean's nose turning dark. His confession about doubts. Something inside was railing against the walls, threatening to burst free every time he looked at Dean. 

“I do.” He agreed easy enough, eyes finding Dean's and they held his gaze. “You understand, rebelling for an angel means death.” He was trying to tell Dean something here, without so many words. 

Like maybe he was afraid to take the plunge because of the price it came with. 

He looked away, out at the parking lot, Impala lit by the bright sodium lights above the gas pumps. 

“Anna will be hunted, even still.”

The double meaning is lost on Dean for the most part. He understand what Cas is saying but not the insinuation. He stepped closer, but when their gaze dropped, he stopped moving, finding them less than an arms length apart.

“Yeah. But maybe she’ll find some happiness before it catches up to her.” Dean tried to follow Sam’s optimism but a life on the run…. well, he hoped at least she got a lot of chocolate cake and sex. She seemed to really like that aspect of humanity.

It should be simple, here. He should dislike Cas as much as he did Uriel. They were working together after all, following the same orders, but Dean’s brain wouldn’t allow him to lump them together. Something kept screaming at him that Cas was different. That Cas felt things in a way Uriel didn’t. Even when making the hard choices, he seemed regretful.

Cas knew Anna had to be stopped but he hadn’t liked that Dean and Sam had other ideas. And not in the same way as his ‘brother’.

Dean reached out, his calloused fingers finding a place against Cas’ stubbled jaw. Their eyes met again and Dean’s lashes fluttered a little like he wanted to shy away. That tether between them felt so slack when they were this close, a tension relieved and Dean tilted in like he meant to kiss Cas.

Might as well finish what he started.

Frankly, it's a little alarming for Cas to see it coming. Not because he didn't want it, but because he did. 

“Dean.” He could feel the warmth of his body this close, smell the faint musk of him from riding in the car, and behind it gun oil and leather. A combination of scents that had become so familiar. 

There's a heartbeat, their lips a breath apart before Castiel was gone. The rush of wind from his retreat ruffling Dean thoroughly as the sound of wings faded. 

No. He couldn't do this. For Dean Winchester he would fall and that thought haunted him. 

Dean’s hand closed in the empty space where Cas’ jaw had been and he stumbled forward just one step on an exhale. 

Despite knowing what happened, he still turned in search of him, finding only his smoothed dollar still finding its way to the pavement. 

It took reaching for it for Dean to realize that he was shaking. The gravity of how easy it was to fall into Castiel had him off balance. 

He went to the bathroom and splashed a good amount of cold water on his face, and when he went back to the car, he just started her up and took off like nothing happened.

They don't see each other for awhile after that. The angels are out cockblocking Lilith and Dean and Sam were working cases, to Sam’s dismay.

Things are okay though. They’re moving along. Until a Siren tore all of their problems to the surface. Sure, they said Sorry and awkwardly pat each other on The shoulder but the wounds were real and they both needed a little space after. 

When they got out of town enough for their liking, they parted. Dean let Sam take the car and he stayed at the motel with a case of beer and a bottle of jack.

They were good but they just needed this for a minute. Dean didn’t call for Cas out loud, but he thought about it.

The angel doesn't come in the way Dean was expecting. It wasn't until Dean was asleep, pouty faced on the bed did Castiel slip into his dreams. At first they're too rapid and shifting to do more than appear in the background, but once Dean settled somewhere, he was there. It just so happened to be a dark stretch of road in the front seat of the Impala. Not another car in sight for miles. The windows were down, the air whipping through the cab but it didn't dwarf the sound of music. 

He looked over at Dean as he drove, feeling how comforting this dream was to him. It was one he must've turned to often because there was a familiarity to it as well. 

This is their first time seeing each other since that almost kiss and for Castiel, appearing this way was safer. If he made mistakes here no one would know. 

Dean looked at at Cas, doing a gentle double before smiling. He didn’t say anything at first, just seemed content to being together on the open road, jamming Zeppelin with the windows down. 

After awhile, he leaned over and lowered the volume a little. 

“Everything alright, Cas? We don’t usually meet like this.” 

Right now, Dean didn’t realize he was dreaming, that would come later.

“You were thinking of me.” He answered simply, watching the road dip and curve through the dark trees. Castiel wondered distantly if this was an actual place Dean was recalling or if his mind was just a map of roads leading nowhere. 

“I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.” 

Even in a dream, Dean’s face did that funny tick when he was confused and amused at the same time. 

“You know when i think about you. Wings?” He didn’t know how to feel about that. But he couldn’t do anything about it.

“You’re busy, i get it.” He waved off the apology. “You’re here now.” He turned the music back up and the rode like that as long as Cas allowed. 

They rode in companionable silence for miles, or whatever the equivalent was in Dean's dreamscape. The sky turned purples and oranges of sunrise just as the dense forest gave way to open, arid desert. A change that would have been unnatural and jarring in real life, but the mind never paid attention to the lines connecting dots in dreams. It was about the here and now. 

The Impala was warm now, and Cas could feel how perfectly content Dean was behind the wheel. 

He reached over and slotted his hand on the mark he'd left, feeling it even through his layers like there was nothing between them at all. When Dean turned to look at him, the dream slipped away quick like a light switching off. 

“Dean.” Sam tossed a balled up takeout bag at him, bouncing it off his chest. “Wake up man.”

Dean woke with a slight start, holding the mark and looking blearily at his brother.

“‘Sup? M’up.” He slurred, resisting the urge to shiver despite looking a little greasy from being overwarm during sleeping.

He didn’t mention it to Sam- how real it had felt. How real he knew it was. He didn’t feel like he could hide how vulnerable it made him feel, and that wasn’t something he had an easy time with.

“You got something?” He finally used his words, voice rough, hair a mess. He felt restful, which wasn’t common.

“You were singing in your sleep.” Sam looked amused, but not like he was going to press it. Unlike Dean, the bags under his eyes were dark. He hadn't been sleeping much at all lately, since Anna really. 

“I found us a job.” He could tell when Dean needed to work. They'd been sort of on the bench since coming to blows over the siren but it was time to get back into it before Dean started poking around and making trouble. Idle hands and all that. “Got some bodies in Oregon, hearts missing.” The timing was right for werewolves. An easy job, and Dean liked putting them down well enough. 

“Hell yeah.” Dean seemed pleased by that. It may be cliche but Wolves and Vamps, man. It was always a good time.

He liked the cut and dry of the lore. The difficult, rare jobs were fun but times like this, when things were hard, it was nice to have these ones to fall back on.

When it was all over, he mused aloud that if wondered why the Angels hadn’t sent them after more seals. He knew they’d fucked up a little before but it seemed useless to him that he was walking the Earth to ‘work for them’ and to have radio silence save for Cas’ sometimes visits in his dreams.

Almost as if he’d heard them, Bobby called with something real suspicious. It sounded like demons so Sam is all over it. Dean agrees, but with less enthusiasm. 

They disagree majorly in the middle of the case as well. Sam thinks they’re special, different than other people, above the rules, but Dean doesn’t think anyone should be above the rules. They broke the rules all the time but that didn’t mean Dean felt justified. It was the opposite. He felt guilty for being alive all of the time. Guilty Sam was alive.

They’d done a lot of good, sure. But if they both died when they were supposed to, would there even be so much bad to clean up? Dean wasn’t sure.

It was something he struggled with everyday, and he didn’t know how Sam compartmentalized it into that neat little box of being exceptions to the natural order of things.

That would never be the way Dean thought.

Alastair showing up would never fail to further knock Dean on his ass. He could pretend that his time in Hell didn’t bother him but everyone around him, even Sam now, knew the truth. The memory of it had become a weakness and Alastair’s presence dug into the sore spot. 

He doesn’t get much time to think about it before his lights go out. Dean came to to Sam carrying him into the hotel room.

Dean double fisted his shirt. “Where is he.” He slurred. “What happened.” His head was pounding, it felt like a concussion for sure.

Sam huffed as he popped their door open with one hand, hefting Dean higher on his shoulder. He almost preferred it when Dean was out, he was such a sack of potatoes, but now he was squirming like he didn't trust Sam's hold. 

“What do you remember?” He bent to deposit him on the bed, trying to minimize the jostling. Dean had got himself a pretty good goose egg on one of the headstones. Sam pushed him back down when he tried to sit up. “Stay, I'll get ice.” 

He ducked out and came back with a bucket. He wrapped a handful in a rag and tossed it to Dean. 

“He tried to toss me and it didn't work so he ran.” 

Dean held the ice to his head, pouting still. 

“Whaddaya mean it didn’t work?” He still managed to question him, even if it made his head hurt more. When Sam denied knowing, Dean rolled his eyes,”Sam, do me a favor. If you're gonna keep your little secrets, I can't really stop you, but just don't treat me like an idiot, okay? I taught you how to lie, don’t forget that.”

They agreed to disagree silently and moved on to the case again. 

The last person Dean expected to run into was Tessa. Their lips met and the memories came flooding back, his head still vaguely throbbing. Embarrassingly, he thinks of Cas and their almost kiss when it was over, and then his eyes settled on his brother watching him makeout with a reaper. 

Sam doesn’t even hesitate to move right along and keep working, and it left Dean stumbling after him, feeling like he was having such an off day with Alastair and Pamela and Tessa. So much going on. At least if this plan worked, he could take credit for it.

Their next run in with Alastair left Dean becoming a source of torture again. He rock salts him a few times just to watch him disintegrate and come back again, amused, especially at how angry it made Sam. He shot him too just for good measure but he really did seem to have an infatuation with Dean.

“Don’t worry, Dean. We’ll be together again when this is all over. I’ve never had apprentice quite as relentless as you.” He shakes Dean up inside but like Cole taught them. Anger helped to touch things and to make them move.

He and Sam— they’re plenty angry after Alastair is done taunting Dean. He’s going to be messed up after this, and they both know it. 

They drop that chandelier when it matters and Dean’s reaper friend is free to run. And they don’t stay to deal with the fallout either.

Dean went looking for his brother, and finds himself being stalked and hunted by Alastair like he was back in Hell all over again. He knows he can’t fight him, especially not like this, so he was just trying to get away. The great torturer backs him into a corner, and Dean closed his eyes, not sure what he was expecting to happen, but when he opened them again, Castiel was there and a blue light was taking Alastair away.

“Cas?” He sounded so surprised and relieved. “What just happened? What are you doing here?” He started to approach him, full of questions, but decidedly happy to see him.

The angel too seemed pleased, more with Dean than anything. Though his mouth remained stiff, there was a certain crinkle around his eyes that spoke louder than any smile. 

“We've captured Alastair.” He seemed almost smug about that, like he was glad Dean wouldn't have to worry about him out there anymore. “We came to stop the seal from being broken. But the warding on the building…” 

There was a hint of pride as he continued, “you stopped it, Dean.” This was a win, even if it was small in the grand scheme of things. It must've been an important one for Lilith to have put a heavy hitter like Alastair on it. But even that hadn't been enough to stop the Winchesters. 

It’s hard to be upset about not getting more angelic assistance when Cas was praising him, and had also taken Alastair away for him. His face did a funny thing, like he was put on the spot by Castiel’s praise. 

“Oh, it wasn’t all me.” He’d been so ready to brag and boast about his plan but it shriveled up in the face of Castiel’s bright eyes twinkling at him. It made him want to do things Castiel had already showed him they shouldn’t.

Dean was starting to learn Cas, He watched a very small part of him look distracted, like he was listening to something else, the angel radio, and this time, he expected it when he vanished. 

When he passed the spot he stood in, Dean hesitated, like he might be able to feel him there, but it was just the wind. 

He found his brother without Alastair on his tail this time, and his high was sufficiently ruined when he saw the state Pamela was in. 

A win, but also a big loss. He had a feeling that no win on this journey would ever feel completely good. Tessa didn’t help, giving Dean a hard time for trusting the angels, and Sam a hard time for trusting Ruby. 

They didn’t know what was right, they just knew every side said the world was going to end as they knew it if they didn’t stop these seals from being broken. They ran after whoever seemed like they had a good lead. They didn’t know what else to do. 

So on the road, Sam mentions meeting up with Ruby cause she has a lead on Lilith, and he can only say he doesn’t care. Sam wants to work with her, whatever. He was so sick of arguing, so sick of trying to stop it. So sick of people they met dying while they fumbled around trying to save everyone. 

So sick of feeling like they couldn’t catch a damn break. 

Uriel picks the worst time to mess with Dean Winchester. They were necessary in this battle because of their humanity and their free will, but Uriel wasn’t someone who had much patience for that, and Dean was feeling particularly human and ornery today.

“Mind your tone with me.” The angel tried to exert his authority over Dean and it didn’t settle the way he wanted it to. 

“No, you mind your damn tone with me. I don’t answer to you. I don’t answer to anyone.” Dean puffed up in total defiance, leaving Sam and Cas in the middle of two pressurized bombs trying to carefully (and subtly) defuse them.

Whenever one of them spoke, Dean would pause to listen but whenever Uriel chimed in, they were back at each other’s throats.

The only thing that makes Dean go quiet is realizing what they’re getting at here. They wanted him to torture. It may be Alastair, someone he would love to return the favor to, but it was still stirring up a lot of things he didn’t want stirred up.

The way he enjoyed it was hard to think about. It felt like affirmation that he wasn’t a good person.

He turned his green eyes onto Cas. “You can’t ask me to do this.” He pleaded to him, jaw tightening when Uriel answered in lieu of Cas. 

“We aren’t asking, Winchester.” And Sam was left alone in that motel room.

Dean took only a second to realize what happened and he avoided conversation in search of the door, going around even Cas. When Uriel stepped in front of him, Dean looked ready to throttle him.

Cas had been suspiciously quiet the whole time, he even seemed chided when he tried to reason with Dean. It would seem like some power shift had occurred between the two angels. 

He's only surprised when Uriel actually grants the privacy Dean asks for. Listening to their back and forth, Castiel half expected one of them to start swinging but Uriel was empty threats and Dean was still trying to find his footing in a world with angels and the end of the world. 

Of course, Dean's first question was why Castiel was answering to Uriel now. 

“My superiors have begun to question my sympathies. I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You.” There's something different about him tonight. The last time Dean had seen him, he'd been positively glowing over their win with the reapers. But this Cas was somber and as stoic as day one.

“They feel I've begun to express emotions, doorways to doubt.” So they'd taken his rank from him, his position to make decisions, gone, because Dean Winchester made him feel.

Cas looked away, face a blank mask but just the fact that he couldn't hold Dean's gaze spoke volumes. 

Dean understood what was happening here. He’d gotten Cas in some sort of trouble with this connection they had.

He had his hands tied. He didn’t want this anymore than Dean did. But hearing him say it— it feels so good to hear someone say what he needs them to say. Sam- he didn’t know even after all these years that Dean needed verbal support and reassurance. But Cas gives him the truth willingly and Dean knows that's why it was so easy to stumble after him. 

If Cas didn’t have any other choice— if he said this was the only way, then Dean believed him. 

Dean put his hand on Cas’ arm when he refused to look at him. “I’m doing it for you. Because you need me to.” He made it clear to him. “But you’re not going to like who you see. You’re not gonna like who comes out of that room.” Dean seemed afraid of it. But he released Castiel’s arm and he entered the room where Alastair was held.

He ignored the taunting and the singing and he focused on how scolded and defeated Cas had been. On all of the things Alastair did to him in the pit. 

“You got one chance to tell me who’s killing angels.”

Dean didn’t falter, no matter what Alastair said. Cas needed him to do this, and he felt terrible for asking even if he wasn’t allowed to admit it. He needed to be strong for him, for everyone. He needed another win.

He had no idea that the two people he loved were both dealing with their own demons, Sam’s being literal— Ruby, having no faith in his big brother to do the job, and Cas with Anna.

“Do you think our Father wanted this, Castiel? Do you call the orders being passed down righteous? How can you be sure they come from God?” 

She spoke against the current of Alastair's screams. Dean was working smart.

“I know you’re afraid, Castiel. I was too. But deep down you know what’s right. You know Dean Winchester is more righteous than most of our brothers and sisters right now.” She reached out to touch Castiel.

While she was distracting Cas, Alastair was knocking Dean down a peg with the truth, and it was leading to a catastrophic failure.

Sam had unfortunately been right about Dean. He meant well, but Alastair knew how to get under his skin, and Sam knew that Dean would get tripped up.

It's there in that little room that Dean's life comes crashing down at his feet. Alastair breaks him with the one thing he knew would tale the fight right out of Dean Winchester: you were the first seal. And when he broke in hell, so did it. 

To put salt in the wound was the sheer fact that John had been their intended guinea pig but he hadn't once broken during his stay in hell. And they'd lost their chance when the hell gate was opened. But Dean hadn't been able to do what his father could, he'd climbed off the rack and picked up the blade. 

Alastair watched his resolve crumple into itself, redouble and morph into white hot anger, short lived but stunning in its intensity. 

By the time Dean had gathered enough of it to turn the knife on him, Alastair was already free. Then it was nothing at all to torture his favorite pet right back. He didn't stand a chance against him, being mortal and made of flesh. Up here, there was no reset button like in hell. These hurts would stay with him. 

Not even Castiel could stand against him. Not alone. His shaken faith had left his power lacking, and he was still under orders not to kill Alastair. They needed the information from him. 

“Hunc angelum omne obsequendum…”

Cas felt his grace rising to the surface, pulling away from the vessel despite his struggle. 

“Domine expuet ! Domine expuet!”

It was harder now, feeling the tug drawing him towards heaven. Just as he was losing grip on his hold, Alastair was across the room, pinned to a wall and Sam Winchester stood at the door. Even from here, Castiel could feel the power rolling off of him. It was a dark and hungry sort of power, boiling at the surface and pumping through his veins. Castiel could hardly distinguish his presence from the demon's he was now interrogating. 

Half of the information Sam gets doesn't even register with Cas, he's so taken by the extreme change in his nature. The demon blood, if encouraged like this, it would take him over. If it hadn't already. Castiel watched stunned as Sam extinguished the demon inside the host without even pulling it out.

In the aftermath, there's too many things going on to focus on Sam's problem. He maybe should have paid it a bit more mind, but between his doubts and desire to disobey, Anna pressuring him to fall and Uriel wanting to raise Lucifer, it gets a little lost. 

It was with a heavy, defeated heart that he sat at Dean's bedside in the hospital. Sam was God knows where, and Castiel had made enemies out of everyone in turn. Dean's lost and upset, defeated even. Cas understood now even more than before that he'd asked too much of him. Alastair had torn out what he’d begun to break down in hell with just a few words. 

There were no words to say, no comfort he could give. So instead, he slipped his palm under the loose arm of the gown and put his hand on the mark. It burned warm against his skin, fingers notched into place perfectly. A reminder: I fought for you, to pull you out, it didn't matter if you broke or not. But also as a comfort: I'm here, I always will be by your side. 

Dean was pulling through, despite everything. Though it didn’t feel that way inside. Castiel’s touch was more of a relief than he could have ever imagined. His green eyes met Cas’ blue and they stayed like that for a long moment. 

At first, he wasn’t sure if it was real or not, but Cas’ hand was hard to deny. When it really settled it felt like they were connected completely. No denying that Cas was really here this time.

“Don’t you ghost me, you son of a bitch.” He threatened warmly when their eye contact broke. “You owe me more than five minutes.” 

Dean licked his dry lips, throat so sore from the emergency intubation they’d performed when he got here. But he just spoke quietly. Cas could hear him, even if he whispered, that he knew. 

“Is it true, Cas?” He touched his arm lightly where it met his gown. “Is this all my fault? Because I wasn’t strong enough.. the world is going to end?” He was crumbling under the weight of it and in a surprising turn of events, he was leaning on Cas.

There's no sugar coating this and he wasn't going to lie. Not to Dean. 

“Yes.”

Castiel knew it would be hard to hear, even harder to take. There was nothing he could do to make it better besides help Dean put a stop to it all. Then maybe he would stop blaming himself. 

Dean found it easy to do this with Castiel in a way that felt like pulling teeth with Sam most of the time.

They sat, touching just for contact and talking. 

He didn’t think he had it in him to stop this. Dean couldn’t face Alastair, how could he stand a chance against Lilith? Everything seemed so impossible. 

“Cas. I appreciate your faith in me.” Dean rubbed the angels arm a little before he let his hand rest on his own lap. He was still a bit groggy from medication. “But it’s so misplaced, man.” He searched Cas’ stoic face, finding it hard to avoid his baby blues. It felt magnetic, making eye contact with him.

But if there was someone who could encourage Dean to make the hard choices, it was Cas. He wouldn’t have been able to stomach trying with Alastair if it hadn’t been from his talk with Cas. They did have some kind of connection whether Dean wanted to admit it or not. 

“I’m not going to lay down and die But you shouldn’t rely on me. I’ll only disappoint you.”

Cas shook his head just once when Dean spoke. Seeing how broken his will was hurt Cas deep down but he could only hope that Dean would recover in time. 

“You won't disappoint me.” He seemed sure of that. “The man who started it, must end it.” Dean was destined to fix the damage he'd caused. 

His hand left Dean's skin just as Sam rounded the corner with a coffee and a sleepy face. Before he could even greet Castiel, the angel was gone. Watching him dispatch Alastair like it was nothing had really brought attention to how off the rails everything was. But Cas didn't want to fight while Dean was still down. 

Dean’s a little despondent, even with Sam. Kind of especially with Sam. They were both so different in every way, it was hard to get on the same level. Sam was all gunho Team Kill Lilith, but Dean felt that they shouldn’t be chasing that lead down. They should focus on saving people and let the fights come to them. 

He knew the Angels would no doubt enlist them when they felt they were needed, and although he wasn’t happy about it, he knew it was unavoidable. 

Cas said he started it, and he had to finish it. But he wasn’t doing it like some apocalypse now attack dog. He was going to play smart. Play safe. No one cared about what happened to him or to Sam. That was clear. So Dean had to watch out for them both, just like he’s always done.

Castiel’s new colorful leader made a big move before they’d even met him. It helps Dean more than he would ever admit. He had a hard job. But it was a job made for him. Saving people was a part of him. He had to embrace that. 

It’s tough love and Dean has none for the new douche with wings in town. He didn’t really listen well, if they hadn’t noticed. And another attitude in a suit wasn’t going to change that.

Dean did what he did best. He decided to ignore it all until he was forced to deal. Move on. Hunt. He was going to run from this as much as he could. They weren’t ready. 

Normally he was gunho to be reckless like Sam. Jumping on leads and hoping for the best. But with everything thats happened… his time in hell, Alastair, being risen by Castiel, the angels, finding out he’s the source of the apocalypse, now this guy writing their lives.

They were in way over their heads, and Dean wasn’t ready to strike. It seemed too easy. And Dean didn’t like it.

At Dean’s insistence, they did the opposite of what was written and he ignored how petulant Sam was about it.

He was so tired of the unknown and the surprises he just wanted someone to take it out on. Nothing felt in their control anymore and this Chuck— he had all the answers, Hell it seemed like he had all the control.

He’s ready to beat things he doesn’t know out of him when Castiel appeared, and when he told him to release Chuck, he did almost before thinking about it but he did still question him before backing off.

He was really in a bunch about this. Mostly because the guy hadn’t spared on writing about his love for his brother. 

It was too close to home, all of this was.

Sam forced his hand by refusing to leave. And he does the only thing he can think of—- ask for help by the only person he trusts. It takes him a lot of anger (and a lot of patience on Cas’ side) for him to realize that Castiel is helping him. In the best way for everyone. A safe Sam and maybe a dead Lilith too. All at once.

Castiel has no time to see it coming this time. Dean grabbed him by his trench coat and kissed him on the mouth in gratitude. “Thanks Cas. Gotta run.” He tipped his head a little before racing off to get Chuck in time.

It works out, and Dean can’t help but feel more secure on his gut feeling about Cas. He may have his hands tied a lot of the time but he was trying to help Dean.

The next time he saw him was in his dreams, sitting by a lake, fishing.

“Hey. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Dean doesn't know how hard he's pushing Cas; couldn't begin to understand the gossamer thread that he walked, helping when he shouldn't. The kiss, although over before it had really begun, rocked him to his core. His already cracked foundations began to crumble. 

It's days before they see each other again, and it was in the familiar dreamscape of Dean’s mind. Calm waters stretching out before them and a dock just big enough for Dean, his chair, and his cooler of beer. 

“Dean.” He appeared at his elbow, no sound to signify his arrival because travel didn’t work the same here. “We need to talk, somewhere more private.” There was something harried about him. One look at his face and it was clear he was afraid. 

Dean immediately set his beer down and gave Cas his attention.

“What’s more private than my dreams?” He asked,”Nevermind, don't answer that.” He didn't want to lose his safe place to the truth. 

“Anywhere. Where do you need me to go?” Dean grew serious, not liking the look on Castiel’s face. 

He rarely saw any sort of give away in his expression to how he was feeling. So to see fear was jarring.

“Meet me here. Hurry.” Cas gave him a piece of paper, but before Dean could even open it he awoke to the sound of a truck out on the highway, the destination burned in his mind regardless. 

Sam was reluctant and slow moving. His sleep, when Dean had disturbed him was restless and fitful as it had been pretty much constantly lately. In the car, he was a little more himself. 

“So what did he want that was so important?” It wasn’t like Cas to not come to them and share information. Now they were crossing miles just because he wanted to talk. It put both of them at a sort of loss. 

When they arrived at the address (Sam had the thought in the back of his mind that this might be some sort of trap considering how isolated the location was, but Dean could be sensitive when it came to Cas, so he bit his tongue) the warehouse was in ruin. Torn, mangled metal twisted in uncanny shapes, the smell of burnt ozone in the air. Whatever fight had happened here it was huge. Sam rubbed his mouth as he surveyed the damage, jumping when a wire popped above them, showering down sparks. 

The angel banishing sigil makes a little more sense in context, but it doesn’t bode well at all for the body of Cas they find lying nearby. 

“Cas? Hey, what happened?” He prodded gently once those big blues had come open. 

“What? No. I’m not him. It’s me.” The voice was higher, softer; the difference between night and day. “Jimmy Novak.”

It’s clear that angels were here, Dean recognized the markings from when Anna sent Uriel and Cas packing. His heart kind of sunk into the pit of his stomach when he saw Cas’ body. He wasn’t quick enough, even though the drove without stopping. He even made Sam hold his bladder. 

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not when Jimmy spoke. It was so disorienting, seeing Castiel but not as himself. And knowing how wrong of a feeling it was because Cas was just wearing Jimmy. 

Kind of stunned and not sure what to do next, they brought him somewhere where he could eat and recover while they tried to get information on where Cas went. It’s disappointing that Jimmy didn’t know anything. It was killing Dean, wanting to know what Cas needed to tell him. 

But this wasn’t Jimmy’s fault or problem. Dean wanted to help him get home because that’s what Cas would want. His vessel, as he described it, had prayed to be a hand of God. And if Cas was out of him, he had a life to get back to. 

And of course, Sam disagrees, because they can’t agree on anything anymore, ever since he got back from Hell things had been so much worse. 

Sam won, as he did most days, and Dean just kind of hung his head and carried on, hoping he was doing the right thing by Cas by trying to keep Jimmy save, even by keeping him from his family.

When Jimmy relates it to being held prisoner, Dean can’t help but agree, even if he doesn’t say it. If Sam wanted to keep him here, Dean wasn’t going to stop him, but he wasn’t going to sit on the guy and force him. 

And when Jimmy’s gone in the morning, Dean feels a little proud of him. That’s what he would’ve done. 

Dean can’t suppress his laughter in the morning. “I hope that was a refreshing coke you got, Sammy.” There’s no love lost with Dean. He wasn’t convinced holding Jimmy here was the right thing, and he’d told him that from the get go.

Besides, if Jimmy was lying and did know a bit about what happened while he was hijacked, he would know about the budding connection between him and Cas and he hadn’t really told Sam he was circling an angel.

Anna nearly gets them killed, but Dean is relieved to see her in the same breath. He still felt guilty selling her out to Castiel, but Sammy came first. It helped that she didn’t have hard feelings.

It’s surprising that she’s on Sam’s side about keeping track of Jimmy, but Dean doesn’t argue, just drives a little faster and tries not to worry too much as she and Sam went back and forth about what happened to Cas and how bad this all was. 

There’s a lot of thoughts swirling, about the things they’ve talked about, Castiel’s doubts, their closeness. But Dean doesn’t say a word. He keeps it all to himself, not wanting to expose either one of them. 

It was need to know, and they didn’t need to know. 

What he did say was,”Cas is the only Angel i’ve met who really seems out for the greater good. Uriel was working against the grain, yeah? I bet it has something to do with that. I don’t think the Angels want us to survive this.” He stepped on the gas a little heavier and Baby purred loud and strong the whole way down the highway.

The only information Anna had to give, was that if Castiel was back in heaven forcibly, it wasn’t good. There’s the hint of maybe ‘reconditioning’ and nothing about it sounded pleasant. It also sounded a lot like it had to do with the doubts he was having, even if she didn’t say it specifically. 

Before they had even reached Illinois she was gone, leaving them alone in the cab once more. Sam dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, doubled over in the seat. He had a killer headache that had nothing to do with the weather like he said, and everything to do with the hungry maw in his veins. He needed it. 

He lagged behind Dean as they approached the house, missing Dean kicking in the door to save the day. When he emerged, it was to pin down one demon, struggling all the while. With an empty gas tank he was useless and the demon knew that. Dean and him shared a look, and he knew this would be a conversation later when everyone wasn’t in danger of dying. Sam’s abilities were all over the place: strong enough to kill Alastair to so weak he couldn’t hold a single demon. It was bound to raise a brow without a good explanation. 

Their main concern was Jimmy and his family, though. All piled in the Impala, Dean drove and drove until he was comfortable with the amount of miles between them and the demons. In a long term parking garage (prime pickings for a car that wouldn’t be missed for a while) they stopped, and the argument started up again. 

“How long? And none of that we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it crap.” He was naive, but it was only because he hadn’t lived a life with evil on his tail like they had. Jimmy didn’t understand that threats like this never lessened.

“Forever. You’ve got a target on your back and the demons will never stop looking for you. The best thing you can do for your family now is get far away from them or put a bullet in your head.” Gone was the compassionate, reasoning Sam. This was a cold and angry way to tell a man this was his time to say goodbye in a forever sort of way. 

Even when Dean called him out on it, Sam remained unapologetic. 

Dean knows a man like Jimmy needed a strong talking to, but he still doesn’t feel right about the way Sam handles it, and he says so, right in front of Jimmy. It worked, so he didn’t let the complaint carry on. 

Something was seriously going on with Sam, though. And that needed further examining. 

Try as they may, it was too little too late. The minute Jimmy showed up at his family home, maybe even the minute he said yes to Castiel, this was inevitable. And they weren’t just going to let Cas’ vessel drive off into the sunset with the Winchesters. 

They get drug back and thrown around and if it wasn’t for Castiel, Dean doesn’t know what would have happened. The Novak family would never be the same, But at least Claire had a chance at life.

He knows right away that something isn’t right. But he didn’t want to make a scene in front of Sam. 

“Cas-- what did you want to tell me?”

 

Sure he was back in his old vessel, but something still seemed changed about Cas. His gaze on Dean was cold and hard, like he was forcing indifference. Where even before there had been curiosity, some mild admiration, now there was nothing. 

“Nothing of import.” He said stiffly, brushing off their questions. When Dean tried to press, rightfully so considering the run around they’d gone through just for his ‘important message’, Castiel turned on him. 

“I don’t serve man, and I certainly don’t serve you.” Now that sounded like angel bullshit. Real angel propaganda that Cas had avoided since meeting Dean. He left them with the mess, Sam with his mouth bloody and his cravings sated, two dead demons on the floor and the shaken remaining Novaks. 

Sam helped stage the bodies to look like a mutual fight while Dean got Jimmy’s family out and back into the car he’d boosted for them. 

In the car, after, Sam was uncomfortable with the amount of silence. It felt suffocating. Every moment he waited for the shoe to drop, for Dean’s anger to build up and spill over just like always. But it never came and it was slowly driving him crazy. 

“Say something. Get mad. Pull over and throw a punch.” This level of stillness from Dean was uncanny, it felt wrong. Sam wanted all of the familiar blowouts because then he knew he had a chance at coming back from this. That he hadn’t ruined his relationship with Dean irrevocably. 

Castiel’s words had cut through Dean like ice. He never wanted Cas to serve him, and Cas knew that. Dean wanted Cas to do what was right, even if it wasn’t what he was being told to do. Whatever happened up in heaven, it had to of been Alastair level. That’s all he can think, for Cas to treat him this way after everything. It feels like even now, Cas was trying to tell him something. His obedience to his superiors, it seemed like do or die for him. And Dean knew what it was like to do something against your character to make it. He hoped that’s all it was. It hurt too much to think it was something he did. 

He has a distraction from it in Sam, but it’s not the good kind of distraction. 

“I’m not going to do that, Sam.” He sounded as defeated as he looked. He’d realized all in one night that he had nothing. Cas turned his back on him, and his brother… he didn’t even know what to think about Sam right now. 

“I don’t want to hear your twisted reasoning, i really don’t. And i don’t want to get mad and yell. I’m so fucking tired, Sam.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m just so done, man.” He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road and off of Sam. “Do you need me to say it?” He glanced at him, and said something worse than yelling or a thrown punch.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Sam.” They held some hurt eye contact before Sam’s phone ringing ruined the moment and Dean’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he focused back on the road, listening to Sam talk to Bobby and keeping that cold steel look expertly covering up the fact that he knew Bobby was going to call. He asked him to.

Sam had finally broken Dean. He wasn’t afraid of Sam hating him or leaving him if he didn’t give his leash some slack. Little Brother had gone too far, had broken his heart and Cas had stopped by to stomp on it too. 

He locked Sam in Bobby’s panic room and he didn’t even feel guilty for a single second. If Sam couldn’t take control of this, he would do it for him. No more dancing around lies. Dean meant it when he said he was done. No more bullshit. 

Dean stayed to listen to Sam question him and insist he was fine, but he never wavered. “You’re on the bench, Sam. You’ll thank me later.”

Like all junkies, the first stage is anger. Incredulity. Sam wholeheartedly believed he didn’t have a problem. Through the grate in the door, he called out for Dean for what felt like hours before his brother came down to pay him any mind. 

“I’m doing this for you. Don’t you want Lilith dead?” He could just barely see him now, he seemed leery of coming closer but Sam was close enough. 

“Open the door Dean.” He ordered, voice doubling briefly as he used his coercion. That time in the parking lot when they’d both been so afraid felt so far away now. Sam wasn’t worried about guilt, his need was stronger than that. Which should’ve been the biggest red flag for Sam as to how bad his problem was but hindsight was twenty-twenty. 

The locks clicked, and he heard Dean turning the wheel slowly. Resisting. 

“Good.” He coaxed, flexing and testing his strength. He was immensely glad he’d bled that demon back in the warehouse, even if it was hours ago. Sam didn’t think he would’ve been able to fight Dean’s will without the boost. As it were, the door came open between them, and Sam had sense enough to look a little apologetic. “It didn’t have to be this way, Dean.” 

Sam pushed him back against the wall, gentler than most demons that threw them around, but it was the same kind of pinning force. “Stay.” He took the stairs two at a time, and there was a scuffle upstairs followed by enduring silence, until finally the hold on Dean and his mind faded to nothing. 

There’s not much time to think. He acts first, fights with what he has because this is for Sam’s own good. He wasn’t right like this. He didn’t know what he was doing. 

And then it’s nothing. He’s stuck and not struggling, mind focused on Sam telling him to stay.

When it faded away, he looked confused and when it rushed back, he tripped over himself up the stairs.

“Bobby! Sam!” He checked to make sure Bobby was good before he ran outside. No traces. Impala was here. Either his demon bitch girlfriend scooped him up or he took one of the many cars hanging around the junkyard. Dean never kept track of them but he didn’t see any signs of a car tearing out of here so he was leaning towards Ruby.

Dean did the only thing he could do. 

“Castiel. You son of a bitch.” He addressed the empty cold night air. “I need you.”

Bobby had been similarly controlled, and he was just getting mobile when Dean came thundering up the stairs. He was shaken, seeing Sam like that. Sure, he’d seen him possessed, seen him sick, hurt, but never like this. Powerful, evil all on his own. His hands shook as he poured himself a drink. And to think, he’d been thinking about convincing Dean to let him out, considering Sam was their best chance at actually taking Lilith out. 

He didn’t follow Dean outside to look, even though he probably would’ve been able to tell if a car was missing. There was no point trying to run after Sam just yet. It wasn’t like they could lay a finger on him. 

It takes hours of Dean calling for Castiel to finally show. Night had fallen, and he appeared across the lot, expression schooled into a mask. 

Dean would never own up to how hopeless he’d been in the junkyard going hoarse yelling and praying to Castiel while Bobby got drunk inside because there was nothing else to do.

The world was falling apart and Sam was running around barely human thinking he was a crusader or something.

He gets a spike of anger seeing him appear after over two hours and he went for him.

“What the hell, Cas.” He growled, stopping a few feet from him. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Sam’s all roided up and going after Lilith.” He needed help. And he didn’t have anywhere else to turn. But just by looking at Castiel, he knows its not the Cas that spent long hours mutually content at his side in his dreams.

Cas’ jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he tried to hold steady. There was so much he wanted to say, he felt it rising like a tide inside, threatening to spill over. But he’d already been warned, next time they wouldn’t be so forgiving. 

“That’s not the angels problem.” He said evenly, avoiding Dean’s gaze. Castiel knew how important Sam was to Dean. But the angels couldn’t care less. There was still debate between them on whether or not it would be easier to just kill Sam Winchester now. 

The betrayal is all over Dean’s face. All that time spent together where Dean had reluctantly and carefully began to place his faith in Cas and the goodness of his intentions was all going to shit. Once again, Dean was being burned for letting his walls down for someone. 

“What did they do to you, Cas?” He asked, voice rough but less angry and more disbelief. “You used to care about what was right.” And that was the problem. 

“You know what? Fine. Fine. The angels don’t want to help me? Turns out I don’t want to help you stuck up bastards either. Put me back where you found me, Cas.” He demanded of him, mostly just being upset now and trying to get a reaction out of Cas because he was here to abuse and Sam wasn’t. 

“Put me back, or i swear to God you’ll regret letting me live.”

Cas was right to be wary of breaking, because they were never truly alone anymore, and Zachariah had heard enough. 

Sam was running around getting ready to do what he was destined to and Dean Winchester was in the way, currently. 

So one minute Dean is six inches from Castiel, a fist colliding with his angelic face and the next he was in one of those damn doorless rooms, no Cas, no Zachariah. No Bobby.

Just an ugly room with plates of cheeseburgers and too many shades of white.

Dean flexed his bloody knuckles, making an enraged sort of noise before kicking over one of the decorative pedestals.

“I fucking hate angels!” He emphasized to whomever was listening.

There was a lot of trying to get out, and pacing and then just sitting on the couch, bent forward, hands behind his head.

His lips were moving but he wasn’t making any noise.

He was praying to Cas. For real this time, not just angry desperate yelling.

Please Cas. Please help me. I’m sorry. My brother is going to get himself killed and I can’t just sit here. Tell me what i have to do. I’ll do anything. I’ll serve God. I’ll serve Heaven. But i need to save Sammy.

Dean didn’t even raise his head when Zachariah appeared.

“I’m not talking to you.” He spoke quiet, even. “I’ll only talk to Cas.” He didn't trust anyone else. He needed to hear Cas say they would help Sam. 

Zachariah was higher up on the chain than Castiel, a true lover of the bureaucracy of heaven, he hadn’t been down to Earth since Christ was big, but the situation called for a little more finesse than the foot soldiers had. 

“That could be arranged.” He straightened his tie, smoothing the lapels of his coat down his wide chest. “Any other requests while you’re at it?” There was an air about him that said it wasn’t for free. He sounded like a crossroads demon, ready to make his sales pitch. And boy was Dean not ready for this one. 

Dean probably hadn’t paid much mind to the room decor besides the pedestal he’d destroyed, but the main piece was a gilded painting of Michael, his lance speared through Lucifer at his feet. Humans were good for one thing, it seemed. 

Dean looked up and when he did, his expression was the seething sort.

He didn’t know what it was about Zachariah specifically that made his blood boil but he couldn’t stand being near him like this, hearing his politically correct condescending tone.

“Yeah, why don’t you go collect my brother like you did me, while you’re at it. How’s that for a request.” He could get Dean here in a blink, they could stop Sam if they wanted to. But they didn’t want to and Dean didn’t even want to think about why.

It felt like they were being played but he didn’t have it all figured out yet. He had some pieces missing in his puzzle box.

“Now.” He started,”Cas?” He looked at Zachariah expectantly. 

Senior or not, Zachariah probably could tell he was never going to get anywhere with Dean, which is why Cas was important. Dean was a human with attachments. He made decisions of the heart. And his connection to Cas made him more susceptible to listen to him.

The angel considered him for a moment, smirking but his eyes were cool. Like he was itching to take Dean down a peg but couldn’t afford to piss him off even more. He dusted his hands off, despite having touched nothing. 

“Fine.” 

Castiel was there, then, and Zachariah stayed long enough to give him a pointed look before taking his leave. 

There was no mark left from the swing Dean had taken earlier, but Cas still seemed inclined to give him space. He also refused to meet Dean’s eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the painting before them, feeling torn in two. The only reason he was here, was to get Dean signed up to house Michael. As far as the angels were concerned, the apocalypse was inevitable and they wanted all their ducks in a row right when the last seal broke. This was why they hadn’t tried harder to intervene, why they hadn’t set Sam and Dean on seals along side them to cover more ground. They were all but betting on this happening one way or another. 

They just wanted to see how Dean Winchester performed before having him sign on the dotted line. 

But Castiel knew Michael, he knew how cruel and hard he was. Dean would never be the same after being chained to him. 

“The angels know a way to save your brother.” The lilt to his voice was defeated, not hopeful. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good in Cas’ eyes. 

Dean stood for Cas when he appeared but he made no attempts to approach him either.

“Just give it to me straight.” He didn't sound like he was fighting this anymore, not talking to Cas. After everything, even after Cas hardballing him, Dean still trusted him.

He never suspected that Cas was leading him astray. He’d helped him so much along the way.

“You won. I’ve got my damn hands tied behind my back, Cas. What do i need to do for you guys to help him?” He took one step forward but was leary of taking more. 

Cas knew, Dean would do anything. He’d spend forty more years in hell, he’d even kill himself, forget the hounds having to drag him there. 

No price was too big for Sammy.

“Do you pledge yourself wholly to the heavenly host?” Cas hated this, every second of it was chipping away at his will. For this, Dean would never forgive him. If Michael left anything behind, that is. 

Even though Dean answered, Cas hesitated uncomfortably long. He was vaguely aware of Zachariah in the wings, growing restless over his him-hawing. 

“You have to say yes to Michael.” His eyes were pleading, not for Dean to do it, but rather for him to refuse. 

Dean sees it, and he asked questions. Not ones for prying ears to get upset over. Normal, necessary questions. Why, for what, etc. 

It’s plenty of time to see the way Cas wanted to tell Dean what was right. And none of this was right.

He doesn’t agree in a way they could hold him to, he agrees to follow God’s will- to do what needed to be done and he stepped closer to Cas little by little until the angel had nowhere else to hide. 

“I will die to do what’s right, Cas.” They were having two different conversations at the same time. “But don’t give up. We can still stop Sam. It doesn’t have to be this way.” That was the most unsubtle thing he said but not an unexpected point of view for Dean to have. 

He gave him a look, one that was earnest and confident. 

Dean was asking Cas to be brave. 

The trepidation Castiel feels over rebelling is trivial compared to Dean saying yes to Michael. He had been too afraid to take this leap before, but in this moment looking into Dean's eyes and feeling his trust it comes so easy. 

Almost before he had the thought, they both blinked out of the pocket room and were instead right where they had been before. In Bobby's junkyard. Cas was done following rules. He would help Dean save his brother. 

“I can't track Sam. He must be warded.” Definitely with Ruby, then. “Our last intel gathering had Lilith in Nevada.” It was as good a place as any to start. Castiel didn't tell Dean that travel would be sparse now, that they would have whole garrisons after them and it made them easier to track. 

Instead he just stood beside the Impala while Dean ran inside to get his things. 

It makes his head spin a little, realizing what Cas has done. But there’s no time to thank him, or to really analyze much of anything. 

It didn’t take him but a minute to grab his bag from Bobby’s living room. He’d had so much going on with Sam, he hadn’t unpacked anything.

In no time, they were on the road, Dean practically doing donuts around corners he was driving so fast. It was still late at night so the roads were empty which worked in their favor.

Cas disobeyed Heaven for this. At a chance of stopping the apocalypse that everyone else seemed to want to happen. Dean was going to give it his best effort. He owed him that much. 

It wasn’t as easy as just driving to Sam. The only way they are able to pinpoint an actual location is Castiel bringing them to Chuck, even though it likely meant death for him.

Dean means to say goodbye, to thank Cas, to make it meaningful but Cas sent him away to save his life and buy him time, and He didn’t want to make his sacrifice for nothing.

But Dean is too little too late. By the time he’s able to bust in, Sam has already done it. He’s set Lucifer free. Dean had been right about Ruby the whole time. He’d been right about everything.

And finally- she was going to die. Apocalypse already started or not. Dean was going to get his hands on her. He’s just surprised that Sam helps this time, and when Ruby’s lights were going out, he noticed how utterly ruined Sam was. He must have been told the full truth about what he’d really done.

“Not now,” he said to Sam’s anguish. “We gotta go, man. We gotta go now.”

But they barely get down the hallway with Dean dragging Sam before there was a blinding light that both disoriented and disabled them.

They find themselves in Dean’s worst nightmare— a plane in distress.

“Oh, fuck, seriously?” He complained, hand clutched at Sam’s arm on the armrest as the oxygen masks dropped.

The minute they touch ground, Dean is on the move. “We need to find Cas.” He told Sam as they moved through the crowd at the airport, his bow legs feeling like jello.

And in the car they lifted, Dean informed him about Cas disobeyed heaven and about their visit with Chuck, just so Sam was up to speed on why he was racing to find Cas. 

He glanced at Sam and could tell he wanted to talk.

“Not now, okay? I can’t do this right now.”

He needed to find Cas. That’s what mattered right now.

But at the state of Chuck’s house when they finally arrived, it wasn’t looking good.

It feels like daggers in his heart, and all he can say outwardly is how stupid Cas is. He should have gone with him- to stop Sam. Then maybe he’d still be alive.

He’d never wanted this to happen, but Cas had warned him. Disobedience meant death. If the archangel didn’t get him, something else would have.

That didn’t mean it was an easy pill to swallow.

And to make matters worse, Zachariah crashed the party. Dean let him talk this time, but only because he needed time to cut himself and draw the sigil and Zachariah seemed the most distracted by the sound of his own voice.

He banished them, feeling like he’d done some sort of ode to Cas in the action. It was him after all that taught Dean that trick.

It was while on the run to meet Bobby that Dean admitted that Cas told him they needed him to be Michael’s vessel to stop Lucifer. That the angels were after him, and would continue to be after him.

So they found a place to stop and angel warded it as best they could.

But thewording of Chuck’s message fools him easily. Dean thinks if they have Michael’s literal sword, they can defeat lucifer without letting Michael inside of him. It’s too tempting of an idea. He can’t help but go after it. 

And they get trapped so spectacularly.

All he can think while Zachariah is demanding he say yes is the look on Castiel’s face in that angel room. Pleading with him not to do it.

Cas didn’t want this, and frankly Dean didn’t either. There had to be another way. This couldn’t be the only way to stop Lucifer.

He's prepared to say no as many times as he needs to, knowing if Zachariah really needed him, he’d be okay, and even if he wasn’t, it was better than giving in.

Which is why He’s a little knocked on his ass when Castiel showed up. 

God saved them? God saved Cas? That was big. It was affirmation that what they were doing was right. That the angels weren’t right just because they were angels.

Cas put his hands on their chests to engrave the enochian in their ribs, and Dean held his wrist as he did so, not letting go when Cas was done.

“What did you just do?” He asked, his eyes finding Cas’.

He wants time. He wants to talk to Cas. He wants to thank him— but the angel doesn’t linger once he’s done what he’s set out to do and Dean is left alone with Sam once more.

It’s so difficult to be around him after what happened. Sam has always been his number one in all things. He loved him. The gooey forbidden kind of love, and Sam completely betrayed him.

He didn’t know if he would ever be able to look at Sam the same way. And that killed him a bit.

Dean doesn’t want to talk about it because despite how he feels, he doesn’t want to hurt Sam. Even after everything— he still wanted to guard his brothers feelings.

But he persists as Sammy usually does, and Dean finally said the most hurtful thing.

“I can’t trust you, Sam.” It was said quietly, like Dean hadn’t wanted to say it because saying it made it real. But it was true. Dean didn’t trust the one person he’s been able to depend on his whole life.

They didn’t speak to each other the rest of the drive. There was nothing to say.


	2. The Vessels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apocalypse is underway, Michael and Lucifer need Vessels.

When they stopped for rest, Dean laid down while Sam went to stretch his legs and while he closed his eyes, he thought of Cas and if the warding meant he wouldn’t see him again, at least not for awhile.

He was just glad he was alive. Living with the thought that Cas’ death was on him too had been hard.

The angel doesn’t show, So Dean figured the warding may be masking his prayer as well.

It’s probably stupid, but when they bring Bobby back home from the hospital, Dean went into his panic room and summoned Cas the old fashioned way.

The response is more immediate than Dean was probably expecting. Considering the summoning he'd done with Bobby had taken hours for Cas to show. 

“What is it, Dean?” He wasn't short, he actually looked a little relieved to see he made it home safely. Their time apart would perpetually be filled with worry now that he couldn't just swoop in and check on Dean whenever he wanted. 

They would have to rely on communication and summonings like this.

With all that was going on, they hadn't given any attention to the fact that he'd rebelled for Dean, that he'd turned his back on his home because he couldn't see Dean become one of them. He loved him too much to see him burnt out by Michael and there was no denying that any more. No ignoring how powerful and destructive this thing between them was. 

Dean took a moment, mostly because he hadn’t planned on what he would say and now there were too many words swirling around inside and he didn’t know which one to throw out.

He stepped forward, two hands landing softly on Cas’ shoulders like he was making sure he was real. “Are you okay?” He asked low and rough. His own way of showing worry without saying that he was worried.

He let him go. 

“Cas, what you did..” he started, shaking his head because Dean was bad at sentiment and didn’t know how to finish it.

“I’m sorry.” He failed Cas. Sam, the world, but right now he’s more concerned with Cas. What he did for him— so they could take a wild stab at stopping the apocalypse— it really showed Dean the kind of person Cas was. He wasn’t like the other angels. 

He asked too much of Cas. And so had Cas with Alastair, so maybe they were even now.

Dean had something in his hand, it looked like one of his burner phones. He’d set one up for Cas with important contacts in it.

“You can’t hear me, can you? When i pray?” Because of the enochian. Or did he hear it but couldn’t find it? Dean wasn’t sure.

He had no idea that they could still dream walk if Castiel could find the thread of connection to Dean.

“I uh… here’s a phone. It’s got a few of my numbers in it, and Sam. Bobby too just in case, you never know.” He held it out to Cas.

“I’m fine.” He watched him lower his hands, feeling something pass between them. The knowledge that whatever was holding Cas back before, it wasn’t there now. He no longer needed to be afraid, but the forbiddenness of it all still gave him pause. It wasn’t like they could bring forth a nephilim from their relations but Cas had a feeling that the technicalities wouldn’t matter much when push came to shove. It would be another transgression to add to his growing list. 

“I can hear them, I just can’t follow the trail any longer.” Not in the physical sense anyway. Cas too wondered if that ruled out visiting Dean’s dreams. 

He took the phone, brows furrowing over the smallness of it. “Thank you.” Cas would probably have questions at a later time. For now he just slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. 

“I’m going to look for God.” He told Dean, like that was something normal people decided to do. Having been brought back from said unseen force, it felt like their only hope in defeating Lucifer without having to resort to Michael. He couldn’t sit around and do nothing, especially with angels on his tail. If he found God, he could explain that he wasn’t strong enough to resist Dean Winchester after pulling him from the pit. It was too much to ask of anyone. 

“Wow, uh. Good luck?” Dean didn’t really know what to say to that. It was a big task, and if God didn't want to be found, then Castiel was going to be chasing after nothing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like he was a teenager when it came to this thing with Cas. 

“Let me know if i can do anything.” He couldn’t, but that was a thing you said. 

There were beats of silence that Cas probably didn’t recognize as awkward, and when Dean couldn’t take it anymore, he stepped forward to kiss him.

The angel is a little stiff, but not unwanting. He doesn't blink out of existence or leave Dean in the dust. After a few beats, the angel put a hand on Dean's shoulder (lain over the mark but not lined up quite right) and his other palm skirted his rough jaw. 

This was all new to him and although it was equal parts frightening and exciting, Dean made it so easy.

Neither of them were aware of Sam coming down the stairs, investigating where his brother had gone off to. He got an eyeful of the two of them, unsure how he felt about it if he was being honest with himself. 

The stairs creaked as he turned to leave, and he felt their gazes on his back as he ascended. He hadn't meant to interrupt, the last thing he'd expected Dean was doing was down here necking like a teenager. 

“I should go.” Cas’ hair was ruffled, lips wet from Dean's. His fingers curled around the pendant on his neck questioningly. “Where did you get this?” 

Dean had enough experience for the both of them, and once he got a green light, he had no problem leading. He had one hand behind Cas’ head, fingers gently gripping his short dark hair, the other was on Cas’ wrist where he’d been touching his arm. 

He could’ve stayed down here for hours showing Cas the ropes, but knowing Sam caught them is like a much needed cool breeze. He isn’t ashamed, Cas is probably the best person he could be tangled up in, but he didn’t even know if Sam knew he swung that way. He always felt like if Sam knew he did, he wouldn’t take his suggestive jokes as just jokes. 

Another well kept secret, his bisexuality. Right up there with his incestuous want. 

Dean was about to gently protest Cas leaving when he distracted him with a question. “Wha- oh, Bobby gave it to Sam when we were kids. Gave it to me for Christmas one year. It was supposed to be my Dad’s but well, i was there and he wasn’t.” 

He’s surprised at how easy it is to share, but he went right back to tugging Cas close by his trench coat and trying to get him to accept more teaching. 

Whatever response Cas might’ve had, was swallowed by Dean’s lips on his. He faltered, falling into the distraction of it so easily. It was like once he had a taste, he didn’t want to stop. No wonder humans were off limits, this was like a drug. 

He felt the coat slipping from his shoulders and he didn’t fight it, the material pooled around his feet and he nearly tripped over it when Dean surged forward. Cas’ back met with a table and at the urging of Dean’s hands on his waist he perched himself on it. Just the act of spreading his thighs to make room for Dean’s hips felt overwhelmingly intimate. Cas pulled back, hands fisted in Dean’s shirts. 

They were moving fast, but he wasn’t complaining just yet. 

For Dean, it’s his first time in any sort of intimate setting since Castiel raised him out of Hell. There hadn’t really been time in his opinion. And now that he had a taste, he was realizing it had been much, much too long. 

Usually, he was a build up guy. Music, mood, foreplay. But spontaneous had it’s perks. Especially with a wait period like this one. It’s easy to forget that Cas was new at this. 

The angel leaned out of it and Dean sucked some kisses down Cas’ stubbled jaw to just below his ear where he camped out, hands naughty at Cas’ waistline, tugging the button down out of his slacks and plucking at the belt. 

He puffed out a hot breath against his neck, gripping his waist to stop himself from going for his buttons. 

“Fuck, Cas.” There was so much heat coming off of Dean, especially from the hardness in his jeans. He cupped the other side of his neck, his other hand staying at his waist. “I’m trying to behave.” He joked, laugh so intimate and husky with his engine revved.

Dean is a bit like a whirlwind to Cas. He's been watching humans for centuries, he knows the goings on but experiencing it first hand is vastly different. Having a body that reacted to stimuli is where the learning curve was. There was heat building in his gut and between his legs, collecting under his skin. It felt like he was burning up with it. Dean too, where their skin touched he could feel the heat between them. 

He loved the rasp of Dean's beard against him, the feel of his mouth along his neck. The littlest things affected him and Cas was in awe of it all. 

By the time Dean pulled back, the angel was dark eyed and hooked around Dean's little finger. 

“Are we supposed to wait?” He didn't understand why Dean felt he should ‘behave’. Were there rules he didn't know about?

“I wouldn’t say that.” Dean seemed to be considering Cas’ question. It had taken them so long to get to this point, he figured Cas still had some hidden hangups. But he saw nothing but lust and curiosity in his features. 

“You gotta tell me if it’s too much, handsome.” He told him while kissing at his already swollen lips. His warm hands were already being naughty, undoing his shirt buttons. When they were done with, the shirt was eased back off his shoulders, tie tossed over Dean’s shoulder, and his mouth descended to show Cas what it felt like on his chest, and around his nipples. 

And in turn, his hands too went further south, opening the slacks where the belt had already been loosened, and delving inside to expose his sex.

In retrospect, it should be weird, knowing this was Jimmy Novak’s body, but all he saw when he looked at him, was Cas. 

Dean was still fully dressed, and Cas was completely disheveled, missing some clothing and half out of the rest of it. 

The elder Winchester went to his knees with Cas perched on the table and he put his mouth over him so intimately. He seemed to be getting a lot of pleasure out of exploring Cas, he kept it quiet because they were in Bobby’s house still, but there were plenty of groans and throaty noises for Cas to enjoy. 

The motion of his shoulders said that where Cas couldn’t see, Dean was touching himself while he worked.

With more time, better planning, and some lubricant in reach, he probably would’ve had the angel face first in the pillows, but this was a good release, too.

Pleasure was a foreign thing, as were carnal delights. Castiel wasn't prepared for the way Dean's mouth made him feel. It rocked him so wholly, he found himself overflowing in his vessel. There was no other way to put it. The same part of him that allowed him to travel from point a to point b, to exist on different planes, it was swelling and pushing the bounds. 

His head fell back between his shoulders, voice low with pleasure. The increasing pressure threatened to consume him and everything in this room, Dean included. A faint whine rose as Cas’ breath grew short. His fingers scraped along the short hairs at Dean's nape, scrabbling for purchase or maybe just something to anchor himself. 

The whine crested, just to the point of uncomfortable and the pressure that had been slowly building in the room released in one strong pulse as Cas’ wings ripped through wherever it was they actually existed. Their span was impressive and mildly destructive, knocking things off Bobby's table and shelf. They were hard to look at directly, like the mind couldn't quite figure out what they really were. There was the impression of softness there, but also strength. The colour was probably the most surprising, shifting from a pristine white (they were almost opalescent) to the unmistakable pattern of a hawk Dean had seen a thousand times. The more Dean thought of either of the patterns is the one it resembled more, like his mind was coping with a colour he couldn't quite perceive so it was putting its own. 

Cas stroked Dean's mouth with his thumb, eyes lidded as he looked down at him. Now that he'd come, he felt calmer though more embarrassed for the display he'd put on. Sitting here naked with his wings on display. 

Bobby was likely in a pill high sleep, but there was still Sam to worry about. And so far from Dean’s mind. He didn’t stop working until he could swallow and sit back. But when he did, the way he looked at Cas could only be described as worshipful. 

Seeing proof of what Cas was during such a moment felt so sinful. He squeezed himself, chin tilted up at Cas. His lashes fluttered a little when Cas touched his mouth, and his lips, numb as they were, gathered enough strength to close around his thumb, muffling a softer moan as he pushed his hips into his own grasp. 

Dean made quite the mess on the devil’s trap on the floor, and he shifted forward, putting his head in Cas’ lap in a bit of a submissive move while he took the time to catch his breath. 

It was long moments of them both just winding down from the moment, and when Dean was able to stand, his fingers dared to brush along part of his wingspan. 

“Wow.” He complimented with his tone of voice. 

Cas’ face did a funny thing in response and he reached out to take Dean's hand like one would a child playing with something dangerous. 

“I'm surprised you can see them.” He hadn't thought himself able to manifest them in this way and he wondered if he'd be able to do it again or if it was just a spur of the moment deal. “I didn't know what else to do, it felt like I was burning through my vessel.” 

The angel didn't seem tired in the aftermath, not any more than normal, and he carefully came down off the desk to pull his trousers on. His shirt hung useless in his hand and he looked perplexed at how to put his wings back where they belonged. 

“Burning through your vessel.” Dean nodded along, making a face of thoughtful agreement before he gave kind of a dirty smirk, all sideways and showing teeth. He would always be the cocky sort, and that sounded like a pretty big compliment. “I’m awesome.”

He fixed his jeans and belt, wiped the floor up and Cas was still standing there half dressed and winged and confused. Adorable. 

Dean stepped in and gave him a more innocent sort of kiss. Full and warm but lacking of intent. “What’s the matter? Stuck?” He asked, trying to touch them again like a child who couldn’t help testing boundaries.

In response, that serious face relaxed and Cas’ eyes lowered closed for a long moment. Dean's fingers slipped through the feathers which were surprisingly body warm and so smooth they were almost slick. As Dean grew more bold in his exploring, the angel leaned into him heavily, face tucked into his neck. 

This was a day for new experiences it seemed. Cas was like putty in Dean's arms the longer the petting went on (could you call it anything else?) He let out a heavy sigh and just like that, the wings were gone and Dean was left empty handed with just the impression of warmth lingering on his palms. 

Castiel didn't move to seperate right away, he was still recovering from the odd sensations of having his wings be physical and touched. It was like having an emotion manifested into something real and letting someone else play with it. 

Dean kept on, smiling a bit mostly in amusement. He had never seen so much emotion, and reaction from Cas as long as he’s known him. It was addicting. The wings vanished and he made a joke about being a wing whisperer. Beckoning them out and calming them back in. 

When they were finally ready to part, Dean saw Cas eyeing his necklace again. 

“What’s up?” He had been ready to head up the stairs.

“The amulet.” Cas’ gaze seemed fixed on it. “I believe it may be instrumental in my searches. It's said to glow in the presence of a God.” How true that was, who knew. But Castiel recognized it by sight. 

“I need it.” Not the nicest way to ask even if he just meant to return it when he was done. Cas was still frustratingly direct and ‘angel-minded’ at times. 

“What? No.” Is Dean’s initial instinct. He even clutched it to his chest protectively. He’s had this necklace on every day for as long as he could remember.

But Cas was looking at him quite seriously, so he removed it. 

“Hey— don’t lose it. It means a lot to me.”

It was the only thanks he’d ever gotten from Sammy for raising him.

Cas was gone after he got what he wanted and Dean went upstairs, a little dazed and humming as he closed the door behind himself and brought a beer and a leftover slice of pizza to his cot in the living room not far from where Sam usually slept on the couch.

Dean felt so naked without the necklace.

He set his food and beer down on the table (no napkin, naughty) and kicked his boots off. Next came the open button up and his belt, but he kept his jeans and tshirt on. He sat down and opened the beer with his ring and gave Sammy a big grin. 

“What?”

At least Cas had put him in a good mood.

Sam opened his mouth a couple of times to no avail. Whatever thoughts he was having were too scrambled to actually be any use to anyone. He ran a hand through his hair and got up in a rush. 

“I need a beer.” He escaped to the kitchen where he tried to gather his wits some. Sam had seen his brother post sex enough times to spot the glow and right now Dean was practically shining. Kissing was one thing but sex? With an angel? A male angel? He hadn't even know his brother was into guys. 

This seemed so out of character for him. 

When he returned with a beer sweating in his hand, he plopped back down on the couch. A few sips later (sip was a generous word, he was nervous drinking it away) he spoke up. 

“So….you and Cas huh?” He aimed for casual and missed by a mile. 

“Me and Cas.” Dean repeated, sounding a little proud of himself. It was easier to puff up and own a conquest than to show vulnerability for the feelings he had.

Especially when the person asking was your brother that you happened to be in love with.

“He, uh… took my necklace.” He gestured to his own chest. “Said it glows around God or something wacky.” Dean tipped his beer back. “Oh, yeah, he’s looking for God, thats where he's been. I gave him a phone, so he won’t be a stranger.”

His eyebrows raised briefly in a way that said Cas was crazy. But apparently Dean liked them a little nutty.

“What a waste of time.” Something had changed in Sam. He used to be the one who believed in things working out. Calling him optimistic was a little strong but he always held hope in finding another way. 

Since Ruby and the demon blood, it was like his ability to hope had broken. “If he'd wanted to help, he would've kept the cage from opening.” 

Dean could agree that Castiel’s current crusade was a waste of time but at his hopeless tone, Dean grew annoyed. 

This was all their fault, and they needed buck up and find a way to fix it. They were going after Lucifer, but God as a backup plan was a nice thought.

He was starting to believe that this was supposed to happen as the prophecy goes, and if that was true, that meant all they could do was their best to end it with minimal casualties.

“Well, you opened the cage. And God spared us for some reason, right? It’s our job to fix it.” He got up with his half empty beer and stayed in the kitchen to drink his second one.

His brother would always be such a brat. 

And just like that, they weren’t speaking again. And Bobby wasn’t speaking to either of them because he was pissed off at the world about not having legs.

A few days of stir crazy Dean working on the impala and they got a hit.

“Come on, get your stuff. Rufus found a demon problem in Colorado; all hands on deck.” He told Sam, already shoving his things in his bag to load up. “He’s already got Ellen and Jo on the way.” 

They had some catching up to do.

He texted Cas coordinates and a note that they were working a demon job, in case he needed to pop in. 

While he was driving, he spoke up.

“You uh.. don’t need to drink that crap to do your jedi mind tricks do you?” Dean asked.

“What happened to not wanting me to use my powers.” His tone was a little more bitchy than called for, but it was a sore spot and Dean had gone poking at it with a knife. 

The fact of the matter was, the demon blood had been burned out of his system by whatever put them on that plane. But that didn't cure the cravings. There was no detox, no sickness but Sam remembered the strength it had given him and he missed it like a limb. 

“It's gone. All of it.” Sam lied as stiff and flat as he always did. Apparently they weren't done keeping secrets from one another. 

Dean looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, bad.

As if Sam ever listened to him. And he wanted to know what he planned on doing. Rufus wasn’t the understanding type.

“You know, Sammy, you are just a joy to be around.” He smiled tight before grumbling,”Bitch.” Under his breath as he turned the music up, and loud.

No more talking for them, then.

Fine.

Good with Dean.

When they found Rufus, he had Jo but there was no Ellen in sight. Looks like they’d gotten split up. Something wasn’t right, here.

When push came to shove, even when they were fighting, they worked well together. Sam is a little off his game, but none of them were really equipped to handle a situation like this. It was hard to parse what was even going on at first, the town seemed deserted. 

At least until Sam got jumped by two kids with black eyes in a fill up joint. Demons. He dispatched them easily with the knife, not stopping to ponder over the lack of sizzle and pop there usually was. No, he was too focused on the possibility of them. He was alone, their blood leaking from them freely and he ached for it so bad. 

It's Dean's voice from outside that snaps him out of the daze long enough to force himself out the door on stiff legs. 

“Demons. Maybe they’re building their army.” It would explain the ghost town. 

It was crouched together in hiding, Dean’s shoulders pressed to Sam’s after too many close calls and run ins, that Dean finally broke a little. 

“This isn’t right, man.” He told him quietly. They’d found Ellen, and she hadn’t been welcoming. Very protective of her group and couldn’t distinguish that they weren’t demons. They were lucky to get away.

“Listen. If you can use that freak brain of yours without feasting on some hepatitis from Hell, now’s the time to speak up.” He told him. “You’re a terrible liar, don't look at me like that.”

They hear floorboards and in the blink of an eye, Dean was grappling with Jo, ending up pinning her to the wood flooring,”Sam!” He yelled for his brother, looking annoyingly defeated when he saw that Rufus had him.

Great.

“Why does everyone think we’re Demons.” He complained as he let Jo up, spitting the holy water out that Jo nailed him in the face with.

“Seriously?”

Rufus tightened up on Sam and started speaking latin—- an exorcism but it wasn’t working either.

“This ain’t demons.” Dean said, using his shirt to wipe his face off when they realized Sam and Dean weren’t black eyed freaks.

“This is something much worse.”

Dean gave Jo a hard time while the brains talked it out. Rufus was difficult but he’s been around the block.

But Rufus mentions end times and it clicked for the dumb one.

“Wait— i read about that stuff.” He chimed in. “It’s in the bible.” The signs and omens Rufus was talking to Sam about.

“It was uh.. the four horsemen.” He looked like he was trying to remember which one. “Cas would know.” He pulled his phone out. “Fuck, still no signal.”

Even with them knowing what's going on, It's no easier to control the situation. They split up to gather more people and keep them from killing each other and Sam wound up being nabbed by some other people hiding out. 

It's there that he has a nice long chat with the horseman named War. One twist of his ring and people dissolved into madness around him. Just being around him set Sam on edge. War had made him the moment he'd laid eyes on Sam, talking big game for end times. He was excited, damn near giddy with it. Yet another who wanted Sam to say yes, give Lucifer his chosen vessel so he could be good and strong to lead them. 

Cutting off his finger and feeling the tendrils of madness ease through the town is the only worthwhile part of the whole ordeal. Sam was left with a sour taste in his mouth and a pit in the bottom of his stomach. 

“I think I need to take a break.” He told Dean at the Impala. There was something off about him since Lucifer's cage opened, and it was getting worse all the time. “From everything.” Including Dean. 

As much as it hurts to hear, Dean knows Sam is right. And for once, he doesn’t argue.

“I agree.” He saw how much that surprised Sam. “I’m worried about you, Man.” He told him easily. “I’m so worried about you, i’m not even watching my own back.” He seemed sorry.

“We need to get it together. If you need to go- go.” As hard as it was. 

“Take the impala.” He offered Sam the keys, which really spoke to how much Dean cared about his brother. He rarely let him drive it nevermind take it like this.

Both of them agreeing on something was rare enough, let alone Sam leaving. He was equal parts relieved and scared by what that meant for them. That even Dean could see how hard a time he was having. The mistakes he'd made, the devastation he'd caused they were hanging over him like a noose and wanting demon blood despite all that just made him feel like putting it around his neck. 

Taking a step back wasn't a cure but maybe it would help. It had to beat going on feeling like this. 

“Keep her.” He popped the back door open and pulled his bag out. “It's just a few days.” They both knew Sam didn't mean that, but he had to say something. The last time he'd ditched his brother he'd done so under the cover of night without a word between them. This was the antithesis of that. 

Dean sucked his pout in against his teeth and nodded. “Yeah.” He knew it would be longer. It always was.

“Come’re.” He drug Sam in by his jacket and gave him a hug only a big brother could, like he could hold Sam together with it.

“You come home whenever you’re ready.”

Home. Dean was home, wherever he was. 

He let Sam go and stayed to watch him find a ride to hitch and then he drove the other direction just so Sam knew Dean was letting him go.

Dean drove until he couldn’t anymore and crashed in a motel for a few hours, rinse and repeat until he felt clear headed enough. And then he went after his favorite spook— vamps.

Nothing more cathartic than beheading those bastards.

In their time apart Sam has dreams. Not visions like he once had, no these were much scarier. The kind where he woke in a cold sweat gripping the sheets with a strong desire to dial his brother. 

Lucifer dreams. 

The first few nights, he came to him as Jessica. As radiant and stunning as she had been when they'd met but there was something different about her eyes. Nothing unnatural, they weren't yellow or black, no it was more subtle than that. It was a coolness, a sense of cunning she had lacked in real life. 

She asks him to say yes, she bargains, she does everything right but it's easy to tell that face no. Jessica was gone, a handful of years now. The ache was still there, but so was acceptance, finally. 

It's the ones where he comes as Dean that are the hardest. Hearing everything he wants to hear (validation, understanding) it's a cruel fantasy, knowing it was fake but reveling in it all the same. 

Say yes, I can protect your brother from the angels. Michael won't leave anything behind if he gets inside. 

Say yes so your brother doesn't have to. 

Say yes, Sammy. 

He sat up in bed, watching the time change on his phone, oddly uneasy about it being the witching hour. The salt lines were good, nothing was going to get him, except for in his dreams it seemed. 

Sam thumbed open his contacts and stared at Dean's number. He should tell him, he deserved to know. But what good would it do? It wasn't like Dean could stop the dreams. He knew what Dean would say: That's not me. I don't want this. Sam's problem was that he wanted to hear those words from Dean. The nice ones Lucifer used to soften him up. He wanted that Dean. 

His finger twitched, and the call connected. It couldn't have rung more than once before Sam hit end and set his phone aside, head in his hands. 

Dean spent his time hunting and stealing time with Cas when the angel allowed it. He was busy and Dean was hurting.

He’s in the shower scrubbing guts out of his hair when Sam calls. He sees the missed notification, just for the one ring. No voicemail.

Did it mean something?

He sat down with the towel around his waist and looked at the notice for a long time.

Surely there would’ve been a message if he was in trouble. Moment of weakness?

He sent him his coordinates with a question mark.

Dean was in New Mexico. There was a joke there somewhere about God being on a tortilla.

Sam didn't know how they'd managed it, he had been wandering aimlessly and they wound up less than a hundred miles from each other. He was tempted to tell Dean that, just so he could marvel at it too but instead he just put his phone face down on the end table and tried to lay down. 

In just a few hours he was up again, pacing the length of his room. If Dean had been up at 3am, he was likely asleep now. 

Sam climbed in the junker he'd hotwired and drove to the coordinates. They were pretty specific but Sam still spent some time cruising to find the right place. He pulled in beside the Impala and sat there wondering what he's planned once he got here. Nothing, it seemed. 

He fisted the steering wheel as he looked at the plain of doors. None of them had lights on. The world was still around him, and for a moment it felt like he was still dreaming. Until one of the doors popped open and his big brother stepped out, looking sleep mussed. Sam stared like a deer in headlights, sitting behind the wheel of a beat up GMC. How had he known?

Sam’s missed call bothered Dean all night, what was left of it. He laid down and he rested some but mostly he worried about Sam.

He decided he wasn’t going to get much more than he got and at the time of dawn where it was still dark but easier to see, Dean stumbled out into the hall.

He was dragging his feet, leather jacket collar a little extra popped out of lazily pulling it on. 

Dean moved forward, his eyes falling on the Impala before sweeping over it to Sam like a magnetic force brought his gaze to him.

He stopped and just looked at him for a minute like he wasn’t sure if he was really there, but he didn’t go away.

Sam got to watch Dean smile, something soft and real, at his shoes before he wandered over to the driver’s side window casually.

“You come here often?” He joked cheesily, always crossing that line with Sam. Flirty things were always his go to, no matter who he was talking to.

A monster, a chick, his brother.

It was so stupid and so Dean he couldn't help but break down a little. His shoulders slumped and he pushed the door open between them before climbing out. He swallowed Dean in a hug, nose jammed up against the leather that smelt so familiar and comforting. Like Dean and a little like their dad and mostly like home. 

He held him like that for a long time, longer than was usual for them and their manly ways. Whatever was going on with Sam, it was rough for him to be seeking comfort from Dean. 

Being here and seeing him did a lot for Sam. It made him realize that although Lucifer gave him what he wanted, this Dean was the one he needed. One who would give him shit and hold him accountable and drive him crazy. All of those good things that made him whole. 

The embrace ended with a few back pats and Sam easing back, big hazel eyes dark and exhausted. 

“Got room for me in there?” He tilted his head towards the room. Maybe with the physical presence of Dean here the dreams would feel less real. Less rewarding. 

It’s been so long since Sam leaned on Dean quite like this. Even when Jess died he’d suffered in silence. And Dad— Dean was such a mess he hardly remembers how Sam handled it. It certainly wasn’t in Dean’s arms.

He let him decide when it was over. He could say he hated chick flicks all he wanted, but Dean really didn’t mind. 

“I’ll make room.” He half joked, punching Sam in the arm with zero force. 

Dean didn’t make a big deal about Sam running back to him. He felt a little vulnerable after that long hug. Like he was a teenager all over again. Sam had been such an affectionate little shit when he was growing up. 

“Come on.” He led the way back in since he had the keys. One bed. No use getting the two when he was alone. More room if bagged someone, or if Cas stopped by.

It was unmade but in the way that said Dean had been laying on top of the covers.

Dean shrugged back out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. He had some guns taken apart and set to dry all along the couch, some round making things out. Case stuff. His clothes.

He was quite messy without Sam here to corral it all.

Dean sat down on the end of the bed to take his shoes off again.

“You musta been close.” The way he said it said he was amazed the way Sam was.

“Yeah, right up the road actually. Don't know how we managed that.” Sam snorted and the bed dipped as he sat on the end beside Dean. Far enough away that they weren’t touching save for the occasional elbow bumps as they got undressed. 

The longer he was here, the more Sam started to sag. Really it looked like he hadn't gotten decent sleep since he left. He was ready to tank which was exactly what he did after getting most of the way undressed. He'd made it out of his shirts, his belt and socks were off, and then he'd lost steam and lain back on one of the pillows. 

That was it, lights out. 

It was harder for Dean to settle. He watched Sam sleep while sitting for awhile before laying beside him. For a long time he's just stuck in a loop of worry and relief over and over but the repetition started to have the opposite effect at some point and his eyes grew heavy. 

Dean had removed his belt and shoes and his outer shirt but nothing else. He could do with less though. They ended up spoons in the middle of the bed and Sam was making him sweaty warm in a way that nearly had him snoring. 

Big brother had one hand rested comfortably on top of his gun under Sam’s pillow and the other was curled around him and holding him at his chest in a protective sort of way, his face rested against Sam’s shoulder blade. And like this, Dean felt like he could sleep forever.

For once, he didn’t wish for Cas to visit his dreams. He was consumed with Sam.

The hours slipped by and when Sam came awake it was of his own accord. He took a few minutes to take inventory noting the heat of Dean along his back, the weight of his hand against his chest. Sam had to pee pretty urgently, and he wanted food. Still he hesitated and listened to Dean's deep, even breaths. Every so often one breath would go rogue, end in a shallow snore that was ridiculously endearing. 

His fingers slid around Dean's and he eased his hand off his chest unsurprised when there was resistance. Sam knew his brother's quirks; he could be a beartrap when he wanted to be. He was an aggressive sleeper (though not nearly as bad as Sam who could be all elbows and had a penchant for beating up his pillow until it was soft enough to crush) with a few weak spots. 

Sam's thumb found the hollow of Dean's elbow and he stroked there in slow circles until the tension eased and he slipped away from his grasp. Touching Dean so intimately would never fly while he was awake, but what he didn't know wouldn't kill him. It was one of Sam’s best kept secrets. He'd used it all the time as a teen when Dean would fall asleep with guns or bottles of whiskey in hand. It never failed to get him to release his hold. 

He stepped into the bathroom, door cracked because shutting it was sure to wake Dean. 

Dean awoke when he flushed and he was none the wiser of how Sam had to pry him off, but he was well aware of how they slept when in the same bed. He knuckled the sleep out of his eyes, always a little pouty upon waking. He was definitely the type to brighten up over a cup of coffee. 

“Hey.” He greeted when his sleepy eyes found Sam. “Should probably split soon, i nabbed a ghoul last night.” He probably would’ve left if Sam hadn’t of called. “Wanna find a diner off the I-10?” He asked with a stretch, fully assuming this meant little brother was back. 

Surely he hadn’t come here just to get some sleep. 

Dean stood, tucking the pistol into the back of his jeans before going over to the freshly cleaned guns and reassembling them lovingly fast. It looked like he brought most of them in from the trunk for a wipe down.

For a few beats, Sam just watched him work falling into the familiarity of it. Dean around weapons was easy, was comfort. Just another odd fact of their lives but he couldn't see it any other way, they were as much a part of him as anything else. His singing in the shower or the inability to not make pop culture jokes. 

He realized that was posed at a question a second too late and started a little when Dean's eyes landed on him.

“How close are we to Waffle House?” He knew Dean would know, it was like a built in radar. Sam hardly ever made requests, let alone for actual diner food. This was a rarity, but they'd sought refuge in the twenty-four hour diner enough times for it to be it's own sort of comfort. 

Sam wasn’t fixed but Dean was as subtly patient as ever. He didn’t say anything when Sam seemed a little out of it, he just told Sam they should hit the I-25 if he wanted Waffle House. Head up towards Santa Fe, and away they went, leaving Sam’s borrowed GMC behind as a head scratcher to local law enforcement.

“Cas is looking for Raphael.” Dean told him on the way. And his expression said he thought Cas was playing with fire. “He thinks he can help him find God. He’s supposed to let me know when he gets close.”

For backup, Dean had a penchant for getting roped into stupid plans for the benefit of the people he cared about.

Dean popped out the tape and reached for the box, feeling blind for one and sticking it in, which meant he was in a good mood to not care what they listened to.

He was just happy Sam was back.

It was only a thirty minutes drive from where they were and Dean rolled into the lot smoothly, picking a spot where he could see Baby from the window and they went inside.

There weren’t any pretty waitresses on right now but Dean wasn’t disappointed.

For most of their meal, Sam let Dean talk. He never minded when Dean wanted to regale stories of his triumphs, and hearing of some wins was refreshing. They were in short supply lately. 

Inevitably, Dean asks how he's doing and more importantly what he's been doing and for once Sam's first instinct isn't to lie. 

“I've been having dreams…” He saw Dean's face change, something like dawning dread at the thought of his psychic powers starting up again and Sam filed that away for later before rushing to correct him. “No, it's nothing like that. They're...about Lucifer.” 

Now he looked guilty. 

Dean seemed both the brotherly sort of worried and curious. “Like a supernatural sort of dream?” He asked him.

“Cas invades my dreams when he wants to talk sometimes, do you think it’s like that?” He leaned his elbows on the table, completely forgoing eating to focus on this.

Sam’s exhaustion made sense now. It must be haunting him.

“He won’t get his hands on you, Sammy.” Dean reaffirmed when he got Sam to look him in the eye. “I can promise you that.”

There's some form of agreement from Sam. He knows what this was, it didn't make it any easier to deal with. 

“He was showing up as Jess..” He stopped himself from sharing the rest. Whether it was embarrassment or worry he wasn't sure, he just knew he didn't want Dean knowing it was his face the devil was wearing.

“I don't know what to do, it’s like he knows how to get at me.” In all the worst ways. Feeding him full of big brother's praise and empty promises. 

“Well, he’s the devil.” Dean opened his hands face up on the table. “Temptations like his thing.” He was talking quietly and he seemed less tense talking to Sam about this.

He must have really been worried about him to not blow him off.

“But you got this, man.” He reached across the table to cuff Sam’s arm, putting on that playful Dean grin to show confidence. “No one’s more stubborn than my baby brother.” A big wink to match his teeth flashing grin, and he went for his cheek to pinch just to piss him off and get Sam out of his own head.

Their waitress was older and scolded them for acting like children goodnaturedly.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Dean gave her the goodboy act and let her refill his coffee, smiling at Sam the whole time.”Can’t take him anywhere.”

The tips of Sam's ears went hot and when her back was turned he kicked Dean under the table (gently) He always had to have the last lick. Always. 

“Don't call me that.” He grumbled even as he went back to eating. Dean was good that way, diffusing Sam without him even really noticing. It only worked when Sam was upset about something other than Dean, or else he just got fed up with his brother. 

They both cleaned their plates like good boys and while Dean paid at the counter, Sam wrote down his guess for how many lollipops were in the jar on the other end of the counter even though they wouldn't be back to find out the answer. 

“Where to?” He asked in the parking lot, hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

Dean looked over at him, starting to feel a little of that dry new mexican heat set in. 

“Let’s head east. See where we end up.” Pre-Sam showing up he’d planned on crawling through Cali and up into Oregon, but he didn’t want to stir up more Jessica memories than the Devil.

East was good, slide through Texas, Louisiana, start going north. He wasn’t feeling quite bored enough for Florida this time of year.

Maybe tennessee. It’d been awhile since they’d been to ‘God’s Country’. The weather was fair this time of year

Dean lazily took different highways for a long day of driving with necessary stops to stretch and grab a bite.

And when a full day had passed and Dean felt happy and sated with how far they’d drive , they secured a room with two singles and walked around the town to stretch their legs and find a place to get a beer and some food.

He seemed in no rush to find a new case, he knew one would find them, or Sam would. He just had a knack for it.

Despite apparently banging their male angel friend, Dean still hit on the waitress for sport and made inappropriate comments to Sammy.

They hit a convenience store on the way back to the room for more beer even though Sam knew Dean wouldn't last after all that driving.

Without really knowing it, Dean gives him the first day back he desperately needs. No pressure of a case, or people in need. Just miles and miles of road and the roar of the wind coming in the open windows. He even played Sam's favorite Aerosmith tape that lived in the box simply because Sam liked them. 

He’s tired by the time they get back to the room, itching where his sweat had gathered at his lower back so he nabbed a towel and claimed the bathroom. The shower doesn't start up right away, which was always Sam's dead giveaway. He trusted Dean had the tv on by now, so he eased a hand into his jeans. His back was to the mirror, rear perched on the sink counter. Not exactly idea, but when you lived with your brother full time you took what you could get. 

Dean put it on but he lowered the volume little by little until he could hear something. If anyone saw him, it would look as casual and as subtle as can be.

He was sitting on his designated bed, legs crossed, beer in one hand, remote in the other. His eyes stayed on the tv and he took the occasional sip, expression staying neutral like even now he was being watched while he listened to Sam touching himself through the wall he was leaned against.

Dean was a pro at this, eavesdropping on Sam. He was as obliviously obvious about it as he was at thirteen. If he put more thought into it, he would start the shower first and let it mask the sound but Dean wasn’t complaining. 

He loved listening in.

Sam had grown out of pillow biting in his bed when he thought Dean was asleep, but he never seemed to grow out of his poorly hidden bathroom adventures.

When the shower started, Dean raised the volume slowly until it was at the usual level. Sam came out and Dean was right where he left him, legs crossed, beer mostly empty, and he didn’t give anything away.

Sam never seemed to correlate how still Dean stayed on the bed for what seemed like forever after Sam was done. But his boner was pretty much steel.

Dean swallowed the rest of his backwash while watching Sam get dressed, eyes soaking in every bit of skin he could,“Get me another beer?” He asked, tipping the empty bottle at his brother.

The bow of Sam’s shoulders is relaxed, and there was a looseness to his movements that came with release. Dean caught him just picking up his shirt to put on and he was pliant enough that he dropped it in favor of doing as he was asked. 

“Anything good on?” Their fingers brushed on the exchange, Sam's body warm and a little dry from his shower. The wet ends of his hair curled against his neck lower than usual since it was getting so long. He'd usually had it lopped off by now but they’d been a little busy. 

He caught Dean staring and he raked a hand through it self consciously and set a few droplets racing down his chest. Sam stepped away to toss the bottle and pull his shirt on, unable to shake the feeling of Dean's eyes on him. It wasn't that he minded, but Dean's gaze always made his stomach do flips. He was better now that he was older, but it was still there. That feeling of being exposed. 

Dean wasn’t shy about the way he watched Sam because he was sure little brother had no idea how much intent was there.

How when Dean saw the water drip down Sam’s chest he could see himself licking it’s trail just to be sexy and enticing. 

How he wanted to know what that big paw that handed him the beer felt like pushing his head down south.

He was minutely slow on answering,”not really.” Dean had on some scary movie on tnt but he hadn’t been watching it so he couldn’t tell Sam what was going on.

“Did you bring your laptop in?”

Dean loved to watch porn on it.

“S'on the table.” Sam shrugged and started to unmake his bed. He didn't even bother cracking a beer. He knew he wouldn't finish. “Hey, no porn.” He warned, pointing a finger accusingly. 

Why else would Dean want to use it, Sam was kidding himself hoping for anything less. 

He spread out in the bed, angled so he could see the tv and he was out with little fuss. Riding passenger always made him tired and Dean knew that, he suspected the long trip today was to wear him out enough that maybe he didn't dream at all. 

Dean nodded sarcastically and made a yeah right face when Sam was no longer looking. He at least sat at the table instead of taking it to bed with him. That meant he wouldn’t jerk off. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t allow himself to feel pleasure from it. He spread his legs and he did something Sam probably had no idea Dean was the type for. He let his mind wander and build on the visual the porn was giving him and he rode the waves of it, hips occasionally twitching, moans building up in his throat that he had to swallow back down. 

He didn’t actually come, but the climax of his desire crescendoed and fell off all the same. 

Unlike Sam’s release of tension, Dean was more tense, but building up need was never a bad thing. Made getting it that much sweeter. He clicked on a slew of typical sites for him to try to blur out the stuff he’d actually got off to. (Gay, very gay) and he closed it. 

Dean stood over the end of Sam’s bed, finishing his beer and just watching Sam, trying to cipher if his brother was okay in that dreamland of his. 

He decided that despite how tired he was, he was going to try to stay up, make sure Lucifer wasn’t haunting him too noticeably. 

So, he took his moody stare to his own bed, sitting facing Sam, elbows on his knees , the tv illuminating Sam vaguely. 

It doesn't take long for something to change. Subtle at first, hard to spot, but Sam's deeper intake of breath wasn't. He did it all the time, usually right before he started talking in his sleep. Embarrassing, considering they were in such close quarters. There had been a few things he'd said as a kid that Dean still never let him live down. 

But tonight, it was just one quiet and firm no. His brows pulled together briefly in a frown before they eased, smoothed into something calmer. 

To the touch, he was burning up but there was no sweat at all. It was kind of like how Cas felt all the time. Over warm but just like he ran that way. 

“Not Dean.” He mumbled, one fist flexing where he'd jammed it into his pillow. 

Dean was fine watching at first, but he heard his name and his chest puffed up in a gut reaction to protect. But he knew startling Sam probably wasn’t good. 

He set his beer down and went over to the bed Sam was asleep in. Sam didn’t wake up in defense mode the way Dean did, so he didn’t think twice about putting his hands on him. 

“Sam?” He called to him gently. “It’s just a dream, Sam.” He insisted while pressing his hands to his shoulders a little firmer. 

Even through his thin tee, Sam is burning up. He tensed under Dean's has before coming awake with a sharp inhale. 

“Dean.” He looked confused though it quickly gave way to relief. “Thanks.” Sam had gripped one of Dean's wrists in a death grip and he released it in slow degrees. 

He was still tired but nowhere near ready to go back to sleep. For the foreseeable future it seemed like he was going to need to sleep in twenty minute snatches. Anything to keep from getting deep enough for Lucifer to find. 

Sam pulled the covers back and got out of bed. “I'm gonna get a cup of coffee, you want something?” There were machines at the end of the hall. Resolutely he wasn't talking about whatever he'd seen. 

Dean didn’t ask, but he didn’t bother not looking worried. “Alright, come on.” He grappled with Sam a little. “Don’t make it weird.” He strained as they got tangled up in the bed, fighting for control of the situation. 

Sam was gangly and strong but Dean was more determined right now. It usually came to who wanted to win it more when they wrestled. Dean put an elbow in between Sam’s shoulders. “Are you calm?” He asked, as if he would let go if he stopped fighting it. 

Bad execution, good intentions. Very good intentions.

“Don’t act like we didn’t share a bed for most of our lives.”

Surprise plays a pretty big role in Dean's upper hand. Sam hadn't been expecting an actual fight, maybe just some verbal goading on Dean's behalf because his brother was like that about wanting to know things. He grappled, anger flaring up quick and hot simply because Dean had put hands on him. That was something Sam had yet to grow out of; resisting being made to do something. It was a personality trait at this point: doing the exact opposite of what he's told. 

So he's not even remotely calm when Dean asks, and his tense muscles probably answered for him. 

“Get offa me.” He huffed, shoulder protesting when he tested Dean's hold. One arm behind the back always got Sam good after he'd dislocated it that one time. His jaw clenched, frustration still bubbling in his gut but the blinding white of anger was draining away at least. 

“I don't want to talk about it.” 

“Good, we agree on something.” Dean tensed his hold but didn’t pull. He knew Sam’s weak spots but he wasn’t out to actually hurt him. One of Dean’s hands spread out on his side and slid up to press to Sam’s chest. Dean’s knees shifted to ease back a little and then finally he began to let his arm go, against Sam’s back versus pinning him. 

“Fuck, you’re testy.” He teased in bad taste, trying to pull Sam with him. “Lay down, killer.”

“I really don't think this is going to help, Dean.” He was so bitchy, but he did finally give in and lay down with him. It was smaller than was comfortable for them to share at this age but they always made due. There had been plenty of times even recently where the places they'd stopped were out of separate beds and they were both too tired to look further. 

Still, Sam felt ridiculous doing it when there was a perfectly fine bed less than three feet from them. He could tell what kind of mood Dean was in (mother hen) there was no getting out of this. 

Stubbornly, he lay with his back to Dean tense as a live wire. After what felt like ten minutes he huffed a sigh. 

“Turn the tv off?” He knew Dean preferred it on, but Sam wanted the cover of complete darkness. 

It meant getting up for Dean, and he was so warm and heavy against Sam. “Mm… kay.” He pushed up, putting some weight on little brother to do so. He went over to his bed and found the remote. 

Off it went, and with the curtains pulled closed, windows salted, it was pretty close to pitch dark. Dean felt the bed, and his hand went to Sam’s hip next as he eased down without trying to crush Sam too much. 

“Bed hog.” He joked to cover up his own insecurities as he slotted the shape of himself against Sam just right. Dean was practically glued to him. 

After a few moments of Dean against him but not holding him hostage anymore, his arm went over his waist. And then a few more moments and his fingers were under the hem of his shirt and holding Sam to him with an open palm to the sternum. 

“Relax, man.” He spoke low in his ear. “It’s just me.” Those fingertips pressed meaningfully to Sam’s skin in place.

It came all at once after that. The tension left Sam with another heavy sigh and his body relaxed into Dean's hold like he was finally letting himself enjoy it. 

His breath dipped into something deeper but it was slow and even. A pretty good indicator he was out or getting there. Sam's big hand, the one that wasn't twisting the pillow into the perfect mangled mess for his head, skimmed down Dean's arm warmly. Hard to say if he was still awake by that point, but it settled over his hand and held it there. 

The whole night they stayed like that and Sam slept. Dreamlessly. 

It’s like any other sacrifice to Dean. But there’s that other side, that very secret selfish side that enjoys being physical without making it an issue.

It was hard for Dean to admit the emotional benefits of physical comfort like this.

He slept just as well as Sam. And this time he was waking up before Sam could wake him, taking his fingers out of the band or Sam’s pants without a word.

No making it weird, no talking about cuddling being a thing— just Dean bitching about wanting Sam to go get coffee.

It seemed they weren’t going to talk about this one, they were just going to do what they needed to survive.

“Fine fine. Keys.” Sam held a hand out, the other knuckling sleep out of his eyes and he caught them anyway. Just like that they were in sync like they'd never stopped. He came back with coffee and breakfast sandwiches and Sam ate his at his computer, snorting over the porn in his history. Enough there that he overlooked it as a whole. Never once had he'd thought to click on and see what his brother was into now a days. He'd tried that when he was younger and it had been animated. Sam was still scarred. 

He poked around for a case and came up with a few possible leads. Dean would like that, getting to pick and choose. They'd call Bobby with the rest, see if other hunters were checking them out. 

Dean sat in front of the tv with the locals news on hoping to get lucky but also just trying to wake up and eat the food Sam brought.

He’s a little quiet but Dean could take some warming up in the mornings sometimes before his word vomit became forefront.

When Sam showed him the options, he found himself stuck between safe and more fun. He’d wanted to ease Sam back into things, but one of the cases smelled like magic which could mean a witch but could also be a surprise weird case. A challenge sounded good. Distracting.

“If we leave now, we could make it to Maine in a day.” He suggested casually, glint in his eye that said he was pleased.

“Maine it is.” Sam went along easy enough, even got up to pack his things and get dressed. His laptop was the last to go and he spent a moment jotting down the other cities he'd been looking in to. 

In the car, he made Dean turn his tape down to call Bobby. 

“I've got some cases, dunno if they're on your radar or not.” He paused, glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah I'm with him.” Sam was surprised Dean hadn't called him first thing, and it sounded like Bobby was too. 

They talked shop a bit before Sam finally hung up and he reached over to turn the tape up before Dean could complain. 

Dean was settled in for the long haul. They’d stocked up on snacks and it was a long race to meet the goal Dean set.

He’s exhausted when they get in, gets a room with a queen and doesn’t even have anything snarky to say when they see Sam leaning against the impala outside, stretching his giraffe legs and waiting for Dean to return with a room key.

Just like that, it’s a thing. A one bed, sharing thing. No denying it kept the monster away, and forever denying that Dean loved getting to be so close to Sam. 

They hunted and they kept an ear out from Cas and Bobby on Lucifer and Michael’s whereabouts and they successfully avoided Zachariah. 

A couple of times, Cas had stolen Dean from Sam, quite literally, to help him in his search from God. So when he disappears one day, Sam is probably sure Cas got him again, but he couldn’t be more wrong.

Zachariah had found them somehow, probably from the Raphael business Dean had gotten into with Cas, and he was showing up an alternative future. 

A future where he denies Michael.

Everything is run down and desolate, but not unlived in. The few people he does see completely avoid him like they know him and are afraid.

That is until a demon finds him.

“Oh, isn't this fun.” He mused, looking him up and down. “Dean Winchester in the flesh. You’re not from around here, are you?” Any one with a good nose would be able to tell that the power that usually eeked off of him thanks to Lucifer’s fondness of him was no more.

“Unless Lord Lucifer finally tossed you aside for the garbage you are?” It withdrew an angel blade and they went to blows.

But he didn’t kill Dean, instead he took him for himself.

A messenger appeared before Lucifer( who was wearing Sam’s face).

“My Lord, there are whispers of a human Dean.” But Lucifer’s Dean was a stone's throw away, looking at a feather he’d plucked from Cas earlier with his feet kicked up while someone sharpened and cleaned his favorite knife. 

“Zachariah must be getting desperate for his poster boy.” Lucifer seemed smug about that, but not worried. “Find him. This could be fun.” He shooed the demon and looked over to his right. There sat his knight, bored and ready to create ruin. 

“I have a job for you.” 

It may have been the devil, but he wore Sam's face well. There was always a hint of amusement in his eyes, perpetually laughing at a joke no one else knew. Everything was a joke when you were king. 

“Any people he meets, I want you to kill them. Put them on display, I want to go all out on his welcoming party.” Lucifer reached out to cup Dean's chin, admiring the flash of his beetle black eyes. “I'll put your angel back together so you can play with him again.” 

It's a dark and desolate future. Worse than Dean could've imagined. There are whole blocks of cities reduced to rubble and it was perpetually cold, ash raining down from the sky and leaving everything in a grey haze. Nothing looked alive. Even the people Dean saw scurrying away and into the shadows. They weren't just terrified (they huddled together so it wasn't that they were afraid of people) they were afraid of Dean. 

Everyone knew the dark beast that resided at the devil's side. It wasn’t like he was kept on a leash, Lucifer encouraged Dean to terrorize and torment. Fed into it gladly until it was a strong, healthy fire. No one even tried to stop him any more. Not even the angels. 

It had been nothing at all taking the first blade from Cain and passing it to Dean. The old demon had lost the taste and excitement, and Lucifer had wanted young blood. And to not have to worry about Dean Winchester trying to save his brother. 

No, he doubted very much his toy soldier remembered who he really was at all. 

Lucifer sat back while the hunt for their visitor began. Crowley and Dean were on it, there would he nowhere he could hide for very long. 

The knight let Lucifer admire and talk, but he kept a pretty neutral way about accepting. He was a good right hand but he didn’t simper and bow like the others.

“Yeah, alright, Lu.” He sighed, setting the feather down and picking up the cleaned first blade.

He snatched his jacket out of a demon’s hands when they held it up and He pulled the black leather on over his maroon tshirt still stained with Castiel’s blood. 

The knight felt Crowley following along at his casual gentlemanly pace before they split to cover more ground.

It was Crowley that found Dean, not so unlike the knight, bloody and nearly finished escaping from some low level Demons who had no idea Lucifer had sent for Dean.

The difference was clear not only in his face and shorter hair, his shaved stubble. But also in his clothing. The blue pocketed utility jacket and the dark green shirt, the regular knife he was packing.

By the looks of it he’d fought them off physically while spewing an exorcism. 

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked gruffly but not as deep as Lucifer’s knight.

It seemed this Dean hadn’t the pleasure of meeting Crowley in his time yet.

A brow arched, and Crowley resisted the urge to purr with delight. A Dean Winchester who didn't know him, the possibilities were endless. 

“King of the crossroads. Consider me a friend.” His voice was rough, that heavy lilt of accent carried on his words. He was wearing a new meatsuit, since Lucifer had disintegrated his old one in a fit of rage. That was some time ago now but Crowley never forgot it. How narrowly he'd escaped being immolated with it. 

“You've got a demon on your tail. A particularly nasty one at that.” He flicked some fallen ash of his pristine black suit. “Might I suggest you find somewhere better to hide?” 

“Hide?” Dean balked at the idea. Definitely a Dean Crowley could remember. Just as confident as the Knight he worked alongside, but with not as much bite to back up the bark.

“You and i, we aren’t friends.” Dean clarified, heading down the main broken road towards anything. 

He ended up going through the brush when he thought he heard signs of life but he finds a cluster of handmade shelters and people that scream and run at the sight of him.

“What the fuck is wrong with everyone,”he asked himself and not the King of the crossroads that was following him. “Am i that ugly. I need a mirror, shit.” He picked through what they had lying around, leaving his stolen knife in exchange for the machete he found on the ground near some cut foliage.

Dean headed out into the forest and he could hear the distant horrified screams coming from where he came.

He stopped and turned to listen, looking concerned. But when a smart man would keep going, Dean looked ready to head back and confront the evil.

He pushed past the man he’d learned was called Crowley, jogging down the path he’d cut like he was going to be a hero and save people.

What he finds instead is his own visage painted in blood, making what looked like a horror stage set up. People everywhere in various stages of fleeing either dead or wishing they were.

The knight saw Dean looking back at him and almost seemed confused by what he was seeing. But he just pulled a woman’s hair to bend her back off the ground enough to begin cut her throat open, the sticky red pouring out as he dropped her again and wiped his hand off on his shirt.

Dean’s heart rate picked up and he had a hard time reconciling what he was seeing.

“What are you doing?” He hollered at him. “What is wrong with you! This isn’t how we do things.”

The knight advanced on him slow and steady and didn’t flinch when Dean got him in the shoulder with the machete.

He seemed more irritated with the damaged leather than the wound, it even began to heal before Dean’s eyes.

“I’m not you.” He told him plainly. The Knight had a certain respect for Lucifer’s ways, so he tended to do what he told. Luci liked it bloody too, and The knight enjoyed that about him. 

He wanted Dean. Alive. As boring as it was, the knight knew Lucifer would make it interesting eventually.

It’s an unfair fight, one Dean was never going to win but he doesn't go down easily and he ended up having to fireman carry the wounded but breathing Winchester into Lucifer after teleporting alongside Crowley.

The Knight heaved him off of his shoulder and Dean rolled to Lucifer’s feet heavily passed out.

He shrugged out of his jacket,”Trash.” He told the henchman, cracking his neck before turning his gaze to Lucifer.

“What are you going to do with him?” The asked, untucking the first blade from his jeans and setting it aside.

He put his hand through his longer hair streaking it with dark blood from Dean’s side where he’d got him a little.

Crowley had legitimately face palmed when Dean had doubled back to investigate. Apparently his self preservation only kicked in when he went dark side. He’d tried to warn him. Still, he followed them back to base (today it was a well preserved modern style house but who knew when Lucifer would want a change in venue again) 

He made himself scarce once Dean was delivered, feigning that he had other business. Crowley had been burned too many times by the knight of hell to trust he wouldn't blab about Crowley trying to help the human. 

“I'm going to pick his brain. Then I'm going to pick him apart.” Lucifer sounded almost cheery about it, eyes alight. He nudged the human at his foot with a boot (he'd purposefully dressed like Sam just to fuck with Dean) out cold still. How boring. 

“Someone bring me a chair.” He sighed and got up, picking the limb body up by his collar even as seams popped in his hand. Lucifer plopped him down in the dining chair someone had produced and stepped back to admire his work. 

“I just...I love it when they're clueless.” He reached out to curve a hand over the back of his right hand's neck, giving him a squeeze. His thumb lingered, stroking over that soft spot just behind his ear. “You did so well.” Sometimes it was hard for Dean to obey no kill orders. Lucifer understood that. 

There was a dip in the weight of the knight’s lashes, and a smirk on his lips as he looked over at Lucifer. 

“I can still kill him.” It was playful, not threatening and only something that he got away with. He even put a hand on his upper back in a more casual sort of affection.

“I wanted to see what you had planned.”

Curiosity was inevitably the Knights downfall. But Lucifer kept him on his toes enough that wanting to know what Lucifer wanted was more enticing than finding out how Dean bleeds.

When he started to come to, the knight leaned against one of the decorative tables at Lucifer’s right, arms crossed and a permanent sort of amusement in his gaze that was kin to Lucifer.

“Sam.” Is the first thing Dean says, immediately followed by,”not Sam.” With a growl as he tried to get up out of the chair and at Lucifer.

Lucifer didn’t need protecting, but like a good guard dog, the knight got up from his perch and loomed over his leader’s shoulder while he took care of their rowdy guest.

“Down boy.” Lucifer put a hand up, and he was pinned down in the chair even without physical restraints. “Sheesh, a little quick to the draw are we?” He tilted his head, those familiar features looking so condescending and amused.

“Not even a hello?” He glanced at his self imposed bodyguard, in love as always with his willingness to fight on his behalf. Such a good idea, turning someone as fatally loyal as Dean. 

Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest, eyes appraising Dean. So soft around the edges, so unlike his current model. 

“I imagine this is a little awkward for you, did the angels send you forward to see how it all ends?” The devil reached out to take Dean's face, fingers so familiar even though the grip on his chin was anything but gentle and loving. “What vintage are you anyway? Twenty-eleven?” He murmured, turning his head this way and that. 

The current Dean looked a few years older, but not many. Not enough to make Dean feel comfortable that the end was far off. Sam looked the same as he did back in their time. And that was what was really scary. His hair was longer, but he hadn't aged in the slightest from the Sammy that Dean had seen just that morning. 

Dean did a good job with the fuck you rouse and not letting Lucifer get to him but he was helpless here, and he knew it.

Though Lucifer seemed fond of the douchebag with his face. And if Dean died that didn’t bode well for the future. 

He was having a hard time looking at Lucifer though the longer he talked and he began trying to turn his head to ignore him.

“This is not my future.” Dean grit adamantly, and the Knight couldn’t suppress his smile.

He curled a hand around Lucifer’s waist and hooked his bearded chin on his shoulder. “This is boring.” He murmured, enjoying that Lucifer was dressed down. He didn’t share the idea that fancy dress was regal.

Dean’s jaw tensed at the peripheral view of his murderous self all against Sam’s body.

“Does this bother you?” The knight asked flat and sarcastic, arms circling The trim waist of Lucifer’s vessel and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He managed to not look ridiculous even up on his toes to reach. It was all in his aura.

The knight snorted and let go when Dean’s lip peeled back in disgust.

It was sick, watching these two parading around in their bodies.

“He’s so sensitive.” He teased.

“Go to Hell.” Dean snapped.

“Original.” He replied, unaffected, amused.

And Dean gave a sarcastic sort of tight smile that said he wanted to cut that look off of the imposters face.

It was entertaining watching them banter, Lucifer wanted to keep him around solely for that reason. He released Dean's chin and took a step back, brushing shoulders with his knight. 

“Mm it's still you, you know.” He knew Dean thought it was a demon wearing his body. “One hundred percent lean, mean, Dean fighting machine.” Lucifer sounded so smitten. “After your brother said yes, you just couldn't wait to fall with him.” 

The grin Sam had now was cruel and hard. “It was kind of pathetic if you ask me, but it worked out in the end.” He curved a hand under his cut jaw and kissed him deeply. Lucifer could tell that Dean was having a hard time seeing them like this, and that seeing their open affection was like salt in the wound. His fingers buried in that long hair on the top, tugging on it just shy of painful. 

“Mm. That never gets old.” Lucifer's eyes were back to light, and amused. “I'm bored now. Lock him up with the angel.” 

Dean couldn’t reconcile what Lucifer was telling him. That this sadistic killing machine was him. That he’d become a demon to be with Sam and had gotten all twisted up in the devil.

It couldn’t be true.

He couldn’t help but watch, Lucifer had made sure of that, and he felt his jaw popped from the tension as he saw what it looked like when their likeness’ kissed.

He noted a mark on evil him’s arm that he committed to memory and he fought being moved while the knight tried to entice Lucifer to have some fun with him even though he was still dirty from his job.

When they drug him in to leave him with Castiel, Dean was knocked out again. They tossed him onto the sleeping area in the secure room the angel currently lived in, and when he came to this time, it was much quicker. 

The angel was at the window across the room from where Dean had been dumped on the floor. There were wardings painted on the walls and floors, rust coloured like old blood and layered like they were refreshed at some point. He was naked and unscathed since Lucifer had held his promise and restored him for Dean's enjoyment later. 

What was most shocking were the wings. Not only were they out, but they looked pitiful, so much less majestic than when Dean saw them last. There were cuffs around his wrists that led to his neck, and one around the base of each wing, all likely warded to keep him chained to his vessel be depowered. 

The perfect captive. 

When Dean awoke, the angel seemed to brace himself with finger tips digging into the wood sill of the window. Fear. 

Through the wall they could hear the rhythmic thumping of something and the rise of Dean's rough voice goading and sharply playful. They were sure enjoying themselves. 

Dean looked so floored when he saw Cas. His expression held more softness in it than this Cas had probably seen in this face in a long time.

“Cas?” He asked in disbelief. “No, no.. not you too.” It felt like a nightmare, honestly. This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t stop thinking it.

He moved forward off the bed and he halted at the way Cas flinched and avoided.

“Did i do this to you? He asked reluctantly, feeling like he was ready to vomit at the depravity of it all. “I’ll fix this. This will never happen to you.” There was such conviction in his promise.

Cas kept his gaze down, but when Dean had moved his wings couldn't help but flutter anxiously just once. His jaw clenched as Dean kept talking, expression so torn. 

“Stop it. This is a trick.” It had to be. Some new form of torture Dean was acting out wherein he pretended to be himself again. Castiel couldn't take it anymore. He'd hit his breaking point ages ago, now they were just hammering a nail already embedded in wood. 

“Man, i hope it is.” Dean sounded like this was the hardest reality to grasp. “Real or not, when i get out of here, i’m killing that bastard, Zachariah.” He said mostly to himself.

Dean settled on his rear on the floor, leaned against the wall across from Cas.

“Cas, what happened?” He asked him. “Tell me what happened so I can stop it.”

Yeah, Sam said yes. But what brought them there?

At the mention of another angel, Castiel lifted his head. The Dean of now didn't talk about angels by name. They were all expendable prey, fun to track and kill when Lucifer caught wind of one. He turned to look at Dean, really look at him and he seemed to understand much like Lucifer had that he was out of time. Quite literally. 

“I was hunting for God, you and Sam were…” He didn't know if that was the right way to phrase this, considering it wasn't this Dean who had done it. “Sam said yes. You came to me and told me he'd been having dreams that were getting worse, that you wished you had taken it more seriously and then he just was gone one night.” 

Cas’ voice was tired and hollow as he told the story, shoulders heavy. Reliving past failures was never fun. 

“I helped you track him down in Detroit, but it...didn't go well. Lucifer made you a deal he had no intentions of keeping. You go with him and he'd leave Sam's body when he found what he was looking for.” Cas had pieced most of this part together in the time after he'd been found, considering he'd been zapped elsewhere. “What he found was the first blade, and he gave it to you as a gift, convinced you to give him more time for his work. And slowly the blade poisoned your mind and you stopped wanting to leave.” 

The angel kept on, unaware that the sounds on the other side of the wall had stopped. He should know better than to let his guard down, but he wanted this Dean to make things different. He needed to let himself hope. 

“I was brought in by some of Lucifer’s men after the first waves of natural disasters ended. A gift, I think.” For Dean. 

Dean listened, obviously able to connect Cas’ explanation with things from his own reality.

“Sam just started having the dreams.” He admitted to Cas. “Zachariah said i would be stuck here for three days.”

Hopefully evil Dean could not kill him during that time.

“Can he really do shit like this? Send me to the fucking future? This isn’t some awful nightmare he’s concocted?”

Before Castiel could elaborate, The knight entered to check on them, which was really just menacingly looking between the two of them before leaving again.

He had his fill of Cas for now, and he was still on the realm of listening to Lucifer. 

It was an uneasy sort of night. He and Cas were eerily left alone and they talked some from opposite sides of the room.

Dean had some more uneventful talks with Lucifer the next day that made him feel like torture was imminent.

But when the knight came in after Cas, Dean intervened. He put himself in between them and it infuriates him to blinding levels.

He would kill Dean for something like this without even realizing it could affect his existence if Lucifer didn’t intervene.

“Don’t touch him.” Dean held his fists up because he had nothing else. It was stupid, but he couldn’t watch this.

The Knight drew his first blade calmly.

“Move.” He warned, not laying a finger on him yet. 

“What are you gonna do? Huh? Kill yourself?” Dean posed the question and the knight slow blinked.

“You really wanna bet on that?” He asked in return, holding just as good of a poker face.

His other hand took Dean by the neck, tossed him around a bit, but it didn’t get really loud and brought to Lucifer’s attention until his Knight had won, Dean Winchester pinned and getting his chest carved into for pissing him off.

Still alive but the chances of it staying that way going down.

“Alright alright. Way too much fun going on here.” Lucifer took up most of the doorway, Sam's expression cool and amused but his eyes were anything but. He snapped and Dean was out from under his bloodthirsty pet and beside him at the door. 

“Take it out of his ass, not your own.” He pulled the door shut, leaving the knight with his prized angel pet and Lucifer turned that hard gaze on Dean. 

“You do realize if he kills you now you won't stop me coming for Sam either way, right?” He gave him a look like he thought Dean was an idiot. “Take a walk with me, Deano.” Boy that sounded weird coming out of Sam's mouth. It wasn't something he'd ever referred to his brother as. It'd be like Dean calling him Samuel. 

In that jarring way that angels traveled, they were on the sandy bank of some vast lake. The surface was completely still and it's waters were dark and swirling with the ash that fell from the sky. 

“We both know you're never going to say yes to Michael.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat, still dressed like Sam would for a hunt. “So I want you to get a good hard look at how things turn out because this is it Dean. This is me winning.” 

Lucifer bent down and picked something out of the grainy sand and put it in his hand. A silver dollar. This wasn't a still lake, it was the ocean. Ground to a halt and unnervingly still. There was no breeze, no rush of waves crashing. If Dean turned around he'd see a few miles off the ruined beachfront hotels and piers, the water had receded and left them so far away but not before causing some serious damage. There were old salt lines as high up as ten stories or more. 

They thought he was stupid and to a degree, he agreed, but Dean knew Lucifer wouldn’t allow his pet to finish him.

He was just sorry he hadn’t been able to save Cas. He was sorry that he likely made a routine punishment much, much worse.

“Well, congratulations.” Dean answered bitchily. “Is it everything you ever dreamed it would be?”

What did Lucifer expect from him. 

The Devil was the only one that really understood though. A tiger didn’t change his stripes. Dean would never say yes. It wasn’t really up to him to change the future. It was Sam.

He turned around, feeling the literal weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t know what sort of lesson this was supposed to teach him. It seemed like either way, the world was doomed. The angels hadn’t exactly shown a good front of righteousness. Whose to say it doesn’t still go to shit if Dean says yes?

And if Dean says yes, Sammy surely would too and Dean just couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be the reason Sam does something else stupid.

“Sam’s not like you. Sam is good. He won’t do this.” Dean comforted himself by saying it aloud.

“I don’t have to say yes to prevent this.” He just needed to get through to Sam.

It was approaching the third day, not that he’d told Lucifer what his time limit was.

Before they could even get to the whole tearing him apart thing, Zachariah was dropping him back into two thousand and nine, and the only thing that saves Dean from rinse and repeat is Cas.

“Oh, man. I’ve never been so glad for a freaky angel beam.” Dean squeezed the life out of Cas. “How’d you find me?” He let him go, healed by a combination of Lucifer and Zachariah but also very shaken up.

Dean had been gone three days without a word. Sam, Cas, and Bobby have been looking all over. They were sure the angels had gotten him, which was partly correct.

“Where’s Sam?”

Cas looked ragged and yet so relieved at the same time.

“I've been listening in on angel radio. Zachariah was the likely suspect and he's easy to find.” He patted his pocket before handing Dean his prepaid phone. 

“You should call your brother. We've all been looking for you.” It had been a long three days and Cas didn't want them to have to keep exhausting themselves now that Dean was here and safe. 

There seemed like something Dean wanted to say to Cas but he couldn’t find the words. So in an odd move, he squeezed his shoulder for a long moment before he dialed up Sam. He didn’t want Cas to know what had become of him because of Dean’s choices. He couldn’t bring himself to share it with him.

“Hey. Cas has me now, i’m good. Zachariah wanted to have a playdate.” And he hadn’t accepted his declined invite.

“Good to hear your voice man.” Sam exhaled heavily. In the background the Impala was rumbling it's low purr. “Where are you guys?” He assumed he must be with Cas considering the caller id. Sam was fully prepared to drive as many miles as it took to lay eyes on his brother. 

Cas squinted, obviously listening in despite the fact that Dean hadn't put it on speaker. “We're just outside of Denver.” He told Dean. The protective jump Cas had made with Dean in tow had been a very big one. 

The phone call was pretty short and sweet, no reason to get into it on the phone, this was something they needed to do in person.

“Come on.” He knew Cas probably needed a battery recharge if he hadn’t offered a teleport.

Dean hotwired a car faster than the guys in the movies, and both brothers drove all night just to meet in the middle. 

He refused to talk about details with Cas but he did admit to being sent into the future and it not being good.

He got out of the truck when he reached the motel he told Sam to stop at twenty minutes prior, unsurprised to find him outside and waiting.

Dean b-lined for him, going up on his toes so his arms were ontop of Sam’s shoulders as he hugged him as tight as he could possible manage.

“Sam.” He curled his fingers into the back of his jacket, holding him in it. Usually their lingering hugs were Sam’s fault but right now, Dean didn’t ever want to let go.

The hug was mutual, Sam hadn't known what happened to Dean but having left the Impala behind he knew it was nothing good. Three days was a long time to worry. He tucked his face in Dean's shoulder, getting the overwhelming scent of ozone that came from angels but below that was all the familiar comforts. 

“What happened, man?” He asked when he'd finally been released. Sam hadn't let go completely, he had Dean by the shoulders an arm's length away. No weaseling out of telling him what happened. 

For once Dean didn’t look like he was running from this.

“Zachariah sent me five years ahead to see what happens if i say no.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing Cas had left them. 

He seemed relieved about that.

“Come on, you get a room? It’s a lot.” And Dean wasn’t going to skip a detail if it might help Sam.

He started from the beginning, told him about devil and himself and about what he’d done to Cas. About meeting the King of the Crossroads and how he’d tried to help him which was supremely weird. (And wouldn’t that memory come to bite him)

Dean grabbed the pad and pen on the side of the bed and drew the mark and a bad version of the blade.

“I had that mark. Cas, future Cas called this the first blade. Said it poisoned my mind over time.”

He seemed really scared of this future.

“You gotta promise me, man. You can’t say yes.” He pleaded. 

It's a lot to digest, Sam is a little rocked just by the idea that angels could send Dean into the future. More than that, the fact that there already existed a future wherein he said yes. It just solidified how unequipped he felt to handling this constant pressure. Not that he was going to tell Dean that in so many words. 

“I wouldn't.” He insisted back, shoulders heavy and slumped. “Just like you wouldn’t.” Sam sighed, eyes on the fake grain of wood painted on the table. “We have to kill him.” 

It was the only way to ensure that future never came to be. 

“I don't know but we'll figure it out, we always do.” And there it was finally, that Sam Winchester brand of optimism. It had been missing in action for so long but here it was rearing up in the face of hopelessness. 

“Cas heard a rumor that the colt is alive and well. He’s still looking into it. But Dean believed in the magic of that gun just as much as Dad did.

Dean reached over and put his hand on top of Sam’s where they were folded. “We can do this, Sam.” They both needed to have optimism and Dean understood that now.

He let go of his brother and stood up,”I’m gonna rinse off.” 

Dean didn’t linger, and when he came out he all but bullied Sam into bed. And this time, Dean ended up pillowed on Sam’s shoulder and he didn’t even complain about how much more intimate it was. After a scare like that— Dean was pretty open.

“They were… together.” He told him in the dark. “Evil me and the goddamn devil.”

Sam's breath stayed even despite how much that thought rocked him to the core. Technically, Lucifer in his body had kept his word. All the promises he made in his dreams of keeping Dean safe from the devastation wrought on the land, he just failed to mention that he'd be responsible for it instead. 

“Well, he was a demon.” He mumbled back, taking a stab in the dark at making Dean feel better. Sam wasn't exactly sure what his brother wanted to hear. “We won't let it happen, Dean.” He gave him a squeeze. 

“Yeah, i know.” Dean agreed with a sigh that said he just couldn’t stop thinking about it. “The things i’m willing to do for you, Sam..” he started, shifting uncomfortably on him. “The things we’d do for eachother…” he didn’t want to exclude Sam’s own self sacrificing idiocy. 

He didn’t really know how he wanted to finish the thought, but Dean fell in line with the Devil just to be near Sam. That was a scary thought. 

“We should’ve gotten drunk.” He mumbled instead of finishing that thought. He was exhausted but his mind was so awake.

“You're the one who wanted to lay down at eleven thirty.” Sam mumbled back, but neither of them made any moves to get up or turn on any lights despite the fact they both knew there was a bottle of wild turkey in Dean's bag. He shifted around once Dean had settled, bullying him into a more comfortable position. 

He could feel that they were both awake, buried in their own thoughts and for once Sam didn't have all the answers. Ten minutes went by and Sam exhaled a slow, heavy breath. 

“You scared me.” They don't usually do this, talk about feelings so openly but in the cover of darkness everything was easier. “When I called Cas and he said you weren't with him, I didn't know what to do.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. But he remembered future Cas saying he wished he’d taken Sam’s feelings more seriously, so he doesn’t brush him off.

“When that dick said i was gonna be stuck there for three days, all i could think about was you. How confused you probably were.” He lifted his leg when Sam squeezed him and he let it curl over Sam’s. He was completely in his arms now but Dean didn’t complain.

“I’d say i’m sorry, but it wasn’t my fault, man. I never would have left you like that.” He tilted his head up a little, barely able to see Sam in the darkness of the room. 

“You’re all i have, Sam. Even when things are dark, even when we aren’t speaking- I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Just hearing the reassurances out loud loosens something in his chest. Sam found himself relaxing almost despite himself and he drifted off thinking about what this was between them. A bond so strong it could turn someone like Dean dark? It seemed impossible, but if it were true, the reverse must also be. They could keep each other human. 

He awoke in a cold sweat around four, not really sure what drug him out of sleep until he realized his arms were empty and Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed just looking at him. Not awake. He knew a Lucifer dream when he felt it. 

“I know you’re lying.” He sat up, blankets pooling at his waist. “Dean saw what happens when you win and I won't let that happen.” 

Lucifer seemed amused but unsurprised. 

“One outcome out of a million possibilities. If it was even real at all.” He brushed it off so confidently. 

“I won't let you turn him into a demon.” 

“Who said anything about demons? I can't stand the little stains.” 

Sam floundered a little, wind taken out of his sails. Was what Dean saw even real or was it angel propaganda? Show Dean Winchester his worst fear to get him to say yes. That seed of doubt had been planted very carefully and Lucifer intended on nurturing it. Sam may not trust him, but he wanted him to trust his brothers upstairs even less. 

The dream ended sooner than he would've liked, though not soon enough for Sam's taste. He was laying wide awake in the pre dawn hours, heart thudding slow but hard. Dean was dead weight against him, warm and so pliant with sleep. He sighed against his skin, settling in for the long wait until he woke.

Dean hasn’t slept much in three days, a few minutes here and there, so he was out once he was able to shut his mind off enough. A couple of times, he lifted his head and repositioned it. And by morning, he was on his stomach in Sam’s arms, body half on him, half to the side of him. 

When he got up, he noticed that Sam seemed a little more awake than usual. So he must’ve been just laying there waiting for Dean to get up. He waited until after they got coffee and breakfast and started putting distance between them and the car Dean had driven there. 

“Oh, baby, i missed you.” He revved the Impala lovingly before they pulled out into the highway. 

And once they got comfortable, he lowered the music. “You good, man?” He asked genuinely for once.

Things aren’t good, not for either of them, not really. But after this, they are more eager to end things than ever. 

As if on cue, they met the famous Crowley, and it turns out that he is kind of a friend. One built out of mutual desire to defeat Lucifer. The big man back and in charge didn’t spell out good things for Crowley. He wanted the Winchesters to prevail whether they believed it or not. 

With an angel and a demon on their side, Sam and Dean started working on getting the rest of the four horsemen rings to open the cage. 

It was only the beginning steps of a plan, they knew they needed to open the cage to put Lucifer back in it in the event that they failed to kill him, but they still didn’t know how they were going to get Lucifer in it. 

Once they had them all there was this added sort of need to accelerate things. Because Lucifer was not happy they’d succeeded in obtaining them. He didn’t want to go back into the cage. It was his one fear. Which meant he was giving Sam a harder time, which made Dean nervous. 

The colt hadn’t worked last time they saw him, and Dean had never felt so helpless, but he wasn’t sharing his feelings with Sam. He didn’t want to influence him to do something rash. 

It really seemed like it was coming down to them choosing between each other and the rest of the world and it just didn’t seem fair, that out of everyone in the world. They were going to have to make that sacrifice. 

“We can’t say yes.” Dean said in the middle of a long, silent ride. “They can’t put this shit on us, man. We didn’t ask for this.”

They're both hiding things from one another these days. Sam wakes up most nights and lays in the dark thinking about all the signs that these were end times. Turning on the computer was a venture in guilt every time, reading about the newest disaster or tragedy and knowing it was all his fault for setting Lucifer free. The guilt was eating him alive slowly and he knew Dean wouldn't understand his need to fix this. 

He had a plan, a very bad one, but every day it was looking like their only shot at getting Lucifer back in his box. It had come to him shortly after Dean had used the colt to absolutely no avail and they’d begun collecting the rings instead. There was no tricking the devil, Sam was familiar enough with him by now to know he'd be a step ahead. No, they needed to take a more direct approach, but he knew Dean wouldn't be on board. 

“You really think anyone else is better equipped to handle this than us? Even the angels don't want to take Lucifer head on.” Sam didn't mention their desire for Michael, it had become somewhat of a sore spot for Dean. He was so vehemently against it. 

“We’re literally the worst people for this, Sam.” Dean argued. “Sure, we fight monsters, yes it’s our fault- but they can’t expect me to choose the rest of the world over you.” Because he couldn’t do it. Maybe it was selfish, but Sam was everything to him. 

Which basically meant it was up to Sam, whether Dean realized that’s the idea he was throwing out. 

“I won’t do it.” 

Lucifer and Michael could find some lesser vessels to fight in, and they could keep looking for a way to kill them. Even if it meant them fighting and causing a lot of damage. 

“There’s gotta be another way, we just have to keep looking.” He gripped the steering wheel, looking like he didn’t know if he wanted to keep driving or not. He pulled off the highway and into an empty rest stop. It was the middle of the night. 

Dean got out of the car into the freezing early winter night and he kicked a discarded cup across the parking lot, sweeping a hand through his short spikes in a frustrated way as he headed to the bathroom.

Sam waited in the dark cab, listening to the engine tick as she cooled down. After the time it took him to recite an exorcism in his head, he got out and followed just to make sure Dean wasn't destroying yet another rest stop bathroom. The cold was tolerable in the car, but as soon as he was out in the open it stung his face and chapped his hands. He dug them in the pockets of his coat and tried to hurry without running. 

He nudged the door open with his elbow, and Dean would've been disappointed to know Sam hadn't remembered to grab his pistol until just now. He felt it's absence acutely as he poked his head in the bathroom. You never knew these days. 

“Dean?” Sam checked the mirrors he was facing while the door swung open. 

One of the mirrors was busted in the center from one clean punch, and there was Dean standing at it, hand rinsed and nearly dry. He was still patting it with paper towels. Not the worst thing he could have done. 

He glanced up at Sam when he said his name, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked back at his distorted image in the broken mirror briefly as he bundled up the paper towels and tossed them in the trash. 

Dean wanted to do a lot more than just break one mirror, but he was doing his best to try to reign it in. It felt like everyday things got harder to deal with. 

He felt Sam’s presence still and he turned to look at him, flexing his hand which made it bleed a little more but nothing terrible. Nothing that needed more than a covering. 

“What, Sam?”

Instead of coming over to check on him (Sam knew Dean got pissy when he wasn't the one being mother hen) he stood half in half out of the bathroom, holding the door propped open. 

“We should get outta here.” He said, keeping it casual. Not at all like he knew he just walked in on a frustrated temper tantrum. Sam glanced at the mirror before turning to go, leaving the door swinging in his wake. 

He went in and paid cash for gas and a cheap bottle of liquor because it seemed like that kind of night. When Dean finally came out of the bathroom, Sam was leaning against the car while the pump slowly ticked away the nickels and dimes. 

In that moment, he looked like a stranger. Familiar still, but older than Dean remembered him somehow. He was looking down the dark road, away from Dean, mind a million miles away. The bags under his eyes weren't dark but they were there, and he had the ghost of a beard coming in. It had been a while since they'd taken any time for themselves. He turned his head when Dean approached, and his expression changed and just like that he was Sammy again. 

“Want me to drive?” 

Dean knows they both put on a brave face for each other, but it’s hard to see. “Do i ever want you to drive?” He wrapped a piece of scrap fabric that he kept for gun cleaning on his knuckles and he got back in to drive more miles. 

But this time, he put in Sammy’s Aerosmith tape and he started to calm down in slow degrees. 

He’s still upset, but it was low tide right now. 

They didn’t drive that much longer, and when they did finally stop, Dean sent Sam in to get the room since his hand was busted. While little brother did that, Dean grabbed their bags, and like a well oiled machine, by the time Sam was out with the key, Dean was just locking up the trunk and ready to follow him in. 

He immediately sat down and opened the liquor up, drinking from the bottle. Sam knew what Dean needed. And that was to sit in this chair and drink as long as Sam tolerated it. 

Sam went through the motions. He pulled some things out of his bag, he salted the window and door, and then grabbed a towel for the shower. Not even ten minutes later he was out, scrubbing at his hair with the towel and shrugging into a long sleeved tee. It looked like one of Deans had found it's way into his bag with the way it was clinging to his shoulders and chest but it was cold enough in the room he didn't care much. 

He wracked his knuckles twice on the table. “Pour me one.” It wasn't Sam's favorite and it didn't have to be tonight. Anything to dull the noise of his mind. He was sure Dean was drinking for similar reasons. 

The room was small, and the table they sat at even smaller. Two chairs and a skinny table top which meant they were bumping knees and brushing hands. 

“Remember that time Dad caught you sneaking that girl into the Impala? I don't know who was more embarrassed, you or her.” He teased, trying to break up the mood a little. They had plenty of harmless dirt on one another, Sam didn't mind reliving his blunders if it meant not talking about the world ending. 

Dean gave Sam a look that wasn’t upset, but said he knew what Sam was doing. But Dean still let him suck him into it. 

“Yeah, i was shaking in my sneakers so bad he believed me when i said it was the first time.” There was a smirk there. Dean had really gotten away with a lot growing up. He thinks it was partly because he listened so well when it mattered that he overlooked the things that got Dean through. 

And sex was such a big part of that. 

“That backseat, man. Some good memories back there.” He cracked his neck and poured more for them both. 

He looked over at Sam, how close he was, how tight the shirt was on him, how much more relaxed he seemed now that they were playing pretend. 

“I’ll never forget the look on your face, you were… fifteen? When i rolled up on you kissing that girl outside the library. What was her name?” Dean shook his head, grinning. “I teased you so much about it, i think it was the first time you actually wanted to kill me.”

The back of Sam's neck went hot just remembering it and he was quick to swallow down what Dean had poured for him. Of course Dean would go for that one, he should’ve seen it coming. 

“Maria? Something like that.” His eyes were lowered, fixated on Dean's wrapped knuckles where the fabric was sticking to the little spots of blood. “I was so sure you'd never show up at the library, I thought I was safe.” 

Now Sam knew better, his brother was a big book loving nerd just like he was. It just took being an adult to realize it and stop thinking of Dean as lazy. He just didn't flex his knowledge as readily as Sam. 

“What were you doing there anyway?” 

“Ah, i don’t even remember.” Dean said honestly, downing another finger of whiskey and pouring some more right away. 

“I never interrupted you again after the way you acted.” He winked at Sam. He pushed the bottle at Sam to make him pour it this time.

“I was kinda surprised when i learned about Jess. You really favored the other side for awhile there.”

It was the first time Dean had ever brought this up in front of Sam.

In the most obvious and ungraceful way, Sam clicked the mouth of the bottle on his glass and sent alcohol sloshing onto the table. Not only had Dean apparently known but he hadn't said anything about it for years. Years. 

He sat back in his chair, not really trusting his hands to pour again just yet though he did rub one over his mouth. 

“Yeah, you know, I just figured some stuff out I guess.” Sam shrugged his shoulders, trying to feign casual despite the fact he was pretty sure the control center of his mind was on fire right now. 

Dean could tell he’d kind of surprised Sam, and it amused him. To make it clear he wasn’t picking on him, he added. “You were brave, man. Girls were one thing- i was so scared of what Dad would think if he caught me figuring some stuff out.” 

His brows rose briefly for added effect, as if he didn’t even want to think about the old school Marine’s reaction and he grabbed the bottle since Sam stalled out. 

“I didn’t-- until i saw you doing it, and getting away with it.”

“I got better, after the library.” He'd been mortified at the time but it had made him learn how to sneak around better. In fact he had built a whole secret life for himself full of college dreams and living a life he wanted. 

They sat there a beat, both sort of absorbing what just happened. When Sam sat down to shoot this shit this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. Not that he was upset, it just felt like flying by the seat of his pants when Dean did shit like this. 

Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table and their knees brushed beneath the table. 

“That explains the siren I guess.” How it had gone after both of their affections without flaunting a pair of tits. 

Dean’s smirk said that there was something he wasn’t saying. It explained the siren, but Dean had guarded this secret so close, Sam had no other instances for an ah-ha moment. 

They were well on their way to emptying the bottle, in their own little world tossing stories back and forth. They weren’t usually so careless but these days, the only thing after them were the angels and Lucifer, and both seemed unlikely to find them right now. 

Which is why it’s so surprising when they awoke some odd hours later ( in the same bed) to Walt and Roy busting down the door and putting bullets in them before they could open their mouths in protest. 

Dean opened his eyes with a gasp, hand smoothing down his chest and feeling leather. It startled him more and then he looked around. The impala. A field. The night sky. Wow, so many stars. 

And then Sam, wow, a young Sam, appeared in the window making him jump out of his skin. 

What..

He couldn't have been more than fourteen, still all sharp angles and the too skinny kind of lanky. 

“C'mon Dean.” Sam was smiling and looked ready to pull Dean out of the car through the passenger window if he didn't hurry. 

The Impala was parked in a wide, open field. The summer night was balmy hot, and the woods were alive with lightning bugs and cicadas. Sam was crouched over some boxes, but he popped up when Dean finally joined him. 

“Got your lighter?” He asked, holding out two roman candles. This whole thing had a nostalgic sort of feel to it. Stronger than deja vu. 

Dean was dumbfounded and mystified as he followed after Sam. This was about the age that Dean realized that the way he felt about Sam wasn’t all brotherly. 

He feels eighteen all over again, expression unguarded and effortlessly happy as he lit the fireworks for his excited Sammy.

But Dean doesn’t look up at the fireworks, he’s too caught up in Sam and how real everything felt.

Was this another one of Zachariah’s tricks?

Dean heard some sounds coming from the car while Sam dug around in the trunk some more and he went to check on it, hearing Cas’ voice on the radio.

It answered some questions but when Sam called him back for more, he went. He even hugged the little brat and told him he loved him before moving on from the memory, and following the road to find the actual Sam.

There’s some tempting places along the way, buildings he recognized that probably held more memories but he waited until he found one he didn’t recognize before investigating it.

And sure enough, there is Sam in all his ridiculous gigantor glory.

Dean stood in the window and waved at him.

Sam was in the midst of what looked like a dinner with the parents, only the girl beside her was maybe twelve and kept flashing brace face at him. He caught Dean's eye and got up from the table in a hurry. 

“What are you doing in my dream?” He pulled at the cheap tie he was wearing, loosening it. It felt more real than a dream but Sam had no other way of explaining it. 

“It’s not a dream, man.” Dean actually seemed pleased. “We died and went to Heaven.” He clasped Sam on the arm.

Them. Good enough for Heaven. Even while ending the world.

“Cas told me. What's up with the cleavers?” He joked. 

“Come on, he said we shouldn’t linger too much, that Zachariah is looking for us to send us back to Earth.” He tugged Sam towards the road.

“Don't we want that?” Sam followed after him, something about the road feeling familiar but he couldn't put his finger on it. Everything here had the glaze of nostalgia over it. If this was all heaven was, Sam was a little disappointed. 

They followed the road until it led them home, quite literally. Sam didn't recognize the house but Dean had almost instantly. He followed him up the stairs, uneasy pit in his stomach. 

“Shouldn't we stick to the road?” This seemed like a bad idea, but maybe that was just because Sam had no memories (at least not any good ones) attached to this place. Just stories and sadness and death. 

“Shut up, there’s only one reason this place would be here.” Dean told him as they ventured inside.

“Dean!” They heard a womanly voice calling for him,”Dinner.” 

Dean stumbled in numbly, a little struck with Mary welcoming him and settling him down for meatloaf. But it became clear with the sound of John coming in and Mary leaving the room that this wasn’t a memory about Mom.

They yelled distantly, Dean in front of his dinner and a babies cry came from the attached living room.

Dean wandered over to it and almost on autopilot like a part of the memory, he scooped a baby out of a lowered bassinet.

“It’s okay, Sammy. Mom and Dad Love each other.” 

This memory, like all of then others was about Sam. About Dean taking care of him.

Mary came in then,”oh, Dean, honey he’s little you have to be careful. Don’t pick him up without Mommy, okay?” She scolded him like he was a child just like she’d done so long ago.

“Sorry, Mom.” He told her.

“Go finish your dinner, Dean.” She told him softly and he went back to the real Sam, glossy eyed and stubborn.

“God, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He told his brother with a rough voice as he started heading out of the house.

Watching it all unfold, Sam felt like he'd learned more about his brother in this moment than their whole lives. His eyes too were a little misty when they turned to leave. 

“Dean…” he stopped himself, shook his head. There was no point. His brother would just try to deflect with humor or self deprecation. Before Dean could even really press, a light passed over head and they both instinctually flinched into the shadows. Angels. 

He motioned Dean towards the thick woods to their left, counting down silently before they were both off and sprinting through the darkness. Sam hopes they're being quiet, but his heart was beating so hard in his chest he couldn't tell. 

They crept through once they felt they’d run far enough, and Dean stopped Sam when another part of the road came into view and they stopped to listen. 

Nothing.

“So they can invade our Heaven, but I don’t think they can really tell where we are. They’re like.. flying blind.”

Explained why they hadn’t been able to follow so well. They hadn’t exactly been graceful in their escape.

They exited the shadows tentatively, to maybe cross the road but a cabin came into sight that Dean didn’t recognize.

“That one yours?” He elbowed him.

The minute they came into view, Sam knew exactly what this was. But he feigned nonchalance. 

“Maybe. No point in stopping we should keep looking for the road.” His avoidance was more telling than Dean's eagerness to visit their childhood home. For whatever reason, Sam didn't want to bring his brother along for this walk down memory lane. 

“Now this i gotta see.”

Inside the cabin would be more familiar to Dean than the out. Flagstaff. Sam had run off for two weeks at sixteen and Dean had been tasked with hunting him down. When Dean had found him, Sam had been alone save for his new friend Bones and maintained that story until this very day. 

But when they stepped inside the cabin someone besides a beautiful golden retriever was waiting for him. He was young, but older than Sam at the time. Maybe in his twenties. Sandy blond hair kept long on top in feathery spikes and a smattering of freckles that rivaled Dean's own. 

He was wearing a Led Zeppelin tee, though it was worn soft and faded. 

Sam felt self conscious immediately. This was a part of his life he'd never shared with Dean until their recent exchange. It made more sense how he'd found a place to stay and money to eat and feed the dog. Him being holed up with some older guy. 

“Heya Sammy.” His voice was warm and playful, brown eyes looking him up and down like a reflex. He was reclined back on the bed with Bones stretched out beside him, tail thumping the bed. 

“Dean, let's just go.” Sam couldn't even face the handsome stranger, he felt so obvious. Heart sick at sixteen over the way he felt. Running off with someone who didn't know about hunting or about him. 

It was intimate for both of them in a way. Dean felt so on the spot seeing this knockoff of him at that age. 

This was what Sam left him for? He circled the guy who ignored him as he should since he was just like some sort of death echo in memory form.

“Seriously? You let this guy call you, Sammy?” As if that was the thing to focus on. But it was better than facing the fact that he held such a similarity to himself.

He was spooked enough though that he went easily at Sam’s insistence and no sooner that they stepped outside and headed down the road- They see the buzz of angels and duck into the nearest memory, not knowing how unsafe the memories were. 

“Don’t tell me this is another one of yours.” He joked because he didn’t know what else to do. But before they can even see who this is for, they see more signs of angels.

Not until they see Ash beckoning them out into where it was dark far from the path. 

They followed him because they didn’t know what else to do.

He’s able to explain a lot but Dean felt dizzy as Ash explained that the only way Dean and Sam shared a heaven was because they were soulmates.

He looked at Sam and it felt like a sin just to lay eyes on him after that revelation.

If they were soulmates, did that mean Sam had feelings he kept hidden too?

Even as his world tilted on its head, Sam remained staring forward at Ash and his supercomputer. Yes, he heard the words he just said but he had no intentions of examining them too closely. He was still on edge about revisiting Flagstaff. 

“So how did you know we were here?” He could feel Dean's eyes on him, and his jaw clenched a little as the desire to look over flared up. Sam forced it down and listened to Ash blabber about Angel radio and his snooping. 

“Have you seen Ellen and Jo?” Bad question. Ash's face fell immediately and Sam knew he'd just stuck his foot in his mouth. Ash didn't even know yet. 

Dean let Sam explain since he was the one that walked into the mess. He was still kind of tripped up over the fact that Sam wouldn’t even look at him.

It felt like an admission on it’s own and Dean didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Things are bad down there, Ash.” He confirmed before they got started on getting somewhere they might actually get to find God.

But what they find instead is an angel they haven’t met yet.

Joshua seemed like he was waiting for them.

“God told me you would come.” He began their conversation peacefully, despite Dean’s protective stance, one foot in front of Sam.

The garden appeared as the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. Dean had taken the same horticulture elective as Sam during his senior year on a stop just to irritate him. They’d gone on a field trip here.

Dean didn’t beat around the bush.

“Where is God?”

“On Earth.”

“Oh, great. On Earth. Is he preparing to help stop the end of the world?” He asked sarcastically while Sam tried to play good cop but they didn’t get very far.

Every question yields a disappointing result.

God was abandoning them.

“You’ve been here before. You just don’t remember it. But he wants you to remember it this time. I’m rooting for you guys, i really am. So stop wasting your time looking for him. Find another way.”

They wake up in bed tangled together where they’d died and Dean’s hands twisted up in Sam’s shirt as they gasped back to life.

Both of their shirts were ruined with gore, and the sheets and headboard were a loss too. It looked like someone had been murdered, and rightly so. Sam let go of the fistful of Dean's shirt he'd grabbed and he forced himself to sit up. 

Not a scratch on them but the memory lingered. They'd wanted to kill him so he didn't say yes to Lucifer, they killed him because they were afraid and angry at what he'd done. Dean was just collateral. He'd made them the moment they'd come awake. But they weren't safe from his ire now that they were alive and breathing again. Sam knew he should put out that fire before it really got started but he didn't have it in him. 

He hunched over his lap with his face in his hands, letting it all really sink in. God wasn't going to help them. The angels either wanted this battle or they didn't want to be involved at all. How were they supposed to do this without saying yes? Really. His plan was starting to look better and better every hour. 

“You should call Cas.” He said finally, emerging from his existential crisis. Sam stripped his mangled shirt off and balled it up for the trash. They weren't going to talk about what happened up there. Not if he could help it. 

Dean was still kind of knocked off balance. He felt like everytime he looked at Sam he just had so many questions. Questions Sam wanted to ignore, he could tell.

“Yeah.” He said belatedly.

Dean knew Castiel wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“He’s going to be heartbroken.” He told Sam as they changed and cleaned up their things and waited.

When he was done telling him, Dean put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I know you put all your bets on him.” 

Castiel was heartbroken but right now he was mostly just furious. He pulled away from Dean and his comforts, holding out the amulet to him. 

“You can take it. It's useless.” He turned away from them both, anger bubbling to the surface as he looked heavenward. “I believed in you.” 

When he left, it was swift enough that the curtains rustled, and some papers fluttered off the table. Sam stayed staring at the spot he'd vacated for a while, wondering what this meant for them. Would Castiel even stay by their side now that he knew that God wasn't fighting the good fight? 

He shook his head and turned back to packing. They needed to get out soon considering the mess they were leaving behind. 

Dean looked down at the amulet in his hand, mind going back to Sam when he gave it to him. The way he felt. That was more important than the knowledge that it was a useless God locator.

He hesitated before putting it around his neck. He hasn’t worn it in so long, he’s acutely aware of where it sat on his chest. Mind so distracted and all over the place.

But Sam led the way to the car and Dean got in and drove on autopilot. It was driving him crazy, what Ash said. 

Soulmates.

That felt big. 

A heavenly acknowledgement of this thing between them that Dean has ignored his whole life.

“What do you think it means?” Dean broke the dead silence.

“What? God not wanting to help?” Sam played dumb, flipping idly through the cassette tape box. Ever since they’d gotten back he'd occupied himself with doing something. He'd grown out of physically running from his problems for the most part, but he still had trouble facing them head on without some form of reluctance. 

“I dunno, guess maybe he just doesn't care?” It went without saying. They both had figured that much out, but Sam hadn't known what else to say that wasn't: Can we pretend like the last few hours didn't happen? 

Dean had an anxious sort of energy. Squeezing the steering wheel, tapping it, looking in the mirrors, looking out the window.

Made worse by Sam’s avoidance. Dean felt pinned by the revelations.

He struggled with if he was capable of doing what Sam was and the answer was, he wasn’t.

“....we share a heaven, Sam.” He almost whispered it.

Sam waited a beat, the car briefly illuminated in sodium yellow light. He opened his mouth, closed it again and looked out at the darkness lurking at the edges of the road. 

“He said it happened in special cases. I'd say we're pretty much the exception to every rule.” He felt a little like he was on a rollercoaster, stomach swooping wildly. Why did Dean want to talk about this so badly? Was it because of Flagstaff? 

That thought spurned him on, the incessant worry that Dean might think he was weird or gross like he sometimes did when Sam was a kid. “It doesn't mean anything.” 

Dean was afraid of this, too. He was. This was their chance to just air the laundry but he could tell it was still too dirty for Sam.

“I just think.. it explains some things.. for me.. is all.” It wasn’t a direct admission. He could be talking about flagstaff. But he wasn’t.

He glanced at Sam and the way his hands were just kind of in the cassette bin.

“You gonna pick a tape?” He asked, licking his lips nervously.

All at once he seemed to realize he’d just been holding the box on his lap and he pulled a tape out pretty much at random and fed it into the tape deck. It came on in the middle of side B of Physical Graffiti, the thrum of guitars filling the spaces between them. 

Wanton Song. Of course. Because Sam's life was just like this now. He put the box under the seat and tried to ignore how Dean had once bragged about getting laid to this very song. 

It explains some things for me. 

About what? He wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer. Was it more theories he'd had about Sam and what he’d been like growing up? Had he guessed this so early on too? Sam had been so sure he'd buried it deep enough not even he remembered it was there. How could he be so transparent to Dean? 

They were both suffering, though instead of in silence it was to a song Dean had sex to in this very car with a brunette every bit as feisty as Sam. He’d never given Sam the details because he never listened long enough, but she’d ridden him on the leather until he begged her to stop.

It had taken hours to air out the car. He’d been late to curfew and Sir had been a little miffed. 

And here was Sam, playing it over their misery.

Dean wanted to know the truth. But he was too afraid that the truth was what he’d always thought. That he was sick in the head for wanting his baby brother. He was worried that Sam would never be able to look at him the same way.

So he did the only thing he could do.

“Look at me.” He told him, wanting to try to read Sam.

Just when Sam was lulled into a sense of security, Dean had to go and ruin it. 

“What? Dean you're doing like sixty. Eyes on the road.” He said it, half expecting Dean to do just that and wasn't the least bit surprised when he pulled onto the shoulder like he'd been ready for Sam to ask. 

The highway wasn't deserted, but this time of night the cars passing them were sparse. It was flatland as far as the eye could see and pretty barren too. Sam wasn't a fan, especially of the arid summers but he knew Dean liked driving these types of road. 

With some reluctance, he stopped studying the mile marker (thirty-eight) and he looked over at Dean. He hoped whatever his brother was looking for wasn't there, but he knew just by the slight widening of those big green eyes that he'd seen it. Sam opened his mouth to protest, to fling more excuses but none came. 

Somehow this felt worse than swinging Lucifer's cage. 

Dean watched Sam’s lips part, glancing back up at his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was rooting for Sam to piss him off with excuses so he didn’t have to do this or if he was hoping he’d keep his mouth shut so it wasn’t an awkward first kiss.

But big brother leaned across the front seat, arm on the back of the leather behind Sam like it had been since he pulled over.

The space never seemed as big as it did in this moment. It felt like forever just to lean across the space, and when he was there it was just them sharing breath in hesitation.

A lifetime of burying forbidden feelings would do that to you.

But Dean was already here, and Sam couldn’t run away, so he went for it.

The scent of Dean this close shouldn't be mouthwatering but it is. Sam shouldn't feel his heart stumble over itself feeling Dean's breath on his lips but he does. And then that beat of hesitation was over and they were kissing and it felt like something sliding home. A puzzle piece that never fit right finally turned to match. 

Their first kiss is something short, a question almost. If you asked him later who started the second, Sam wouldn't be able to tell you, and he doubt Dean would be able to either. But the second one is like unleashing the flood waters. Sam’s big hands cupped Dean's face, and he was vaguely aware he'd pulled one of his legs up onto the seat so he could face Dean more comfortably. 

They were a little old to be necking like teenagers but neither of the had it in them to stop. Sam surged up when Dean bit at his mouth, corralling his brother back across the seat and to the opposite door. He hit his elbow on the steering wheel but it was worth it to settle over him, mouth bruising where it dipped to his jaw. 

It's everything Sam's ever wanted to do all crammed in the span of five, maybe ten minutes. The tape clicked off and it was like a spell being broken. Sam sat back, his shirt open indecently low and his hair a mess from Dean's hands. They were both dark eyed and soft mouthed, astonished by what'd they'd done. 

It’s everything Dean wanted Heaven to feel like and more. To have his brother kissing him back like it’s all he’s ever thought about doing.

Dean was so hot in the face it felt like he was going to burst into flames. 

At first he’s too stunned to do much but mash their lips together and go stupid whenever he felt Sam’s tongue meet his. But when he snapped out of it, he bit at Sam and it was like giving some big ruin me signal.

He was tipped back before he knew it and there was no resistance there. Dean’s bow legs were opened as much as they could be around Sam in the tight space. 

And then Sam was gone. 

Dean stayed put, panting and lust impaired. The way he was looking at Sam was a sort of submissive want. Like he was waiting for Sam to tell him what to do.

And if it was to get in the backseat and take it— man, he was ready. But he knew little brother usually needed more pushing even when it wasn’t forbidden fruit involved.

“Sam.” He said roughly as he sat up, having to grip the seat and pull himself upright.

Dean badly suppressed a grin and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Come’re.” He exhaled, reaching for his already half open shirt with numb fingers.

Sam’s fingers circled Dean's wrists before he could get a hold of his shirt and he held him captive as he dipped in for another kiss. This one slower now that Sam was getting a hold on himself. He was already picking up on the little things that made Dean tick and it made him downright ravenous for the rest. 

He gave his wrists a squeeze as he pulled back though he stayed close enough for their noses to brush. Just from how cold it was outside to the warmth of them in the cab, the windows were already getting a little fogged over. Dean was right though, Sam wouldn't be as willing to hop in the back seat right here and now. They were too exposed. 

“Drive.” He told him, voice a little rougher than Dean's heard it before. Sam relinquished his hold, disappointed he couldn't keep Dean longer.

The younger Winchester withdrew to his side of the bucket seat this time, amazed at how much distance they'd gone (really it was all him) and set about rebuttoning his flannel. 

Dean was strung on a hook, waiting with bated breath as Sam held him in place while pumping the breaks. 

His body gave a visible sigh when Sam told him to drive, his shoulders sinking, his brows drawing together as he leaned towards where Sam was hiding.

“Sam.” It was close to a whine but he opened those green eyes and he saw that predetermined stubbornness on Sam and he got settled and pulled back out onto the road even though his legs felt like jello.

As Dean drove, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at Sam like he thought he was going to disappear or bail out the passenger door.

And then they started seeing mile markers. Rest stop six miles.

Five.

Four.

Dean felt like he was being tortured and he leaned on the gas a little more than he liked. Believe it or not, Sam was the more aggressive driver. Dean was fine flying comfortably between sixty and seventy.

Except for when he had the prospect of Sam in his mind.

His little brother was making him drive, but he never said where he had to drive to. And none of the exits they passed had boasted lodging.

Stubbornly, he didn’t look at Sam when he pulled off to the empty trucker stop. 

“Don’t.” He told him, incase their was any protest. Dean had behaved long enough. 

Dean knew him well enough to see a complaint rising before he’d even said it. To be fair, he hadn't specified where to stop so he let him have it. His eyes were dark as he watched Dean pick a spot near the back of the lot. Conveniently out of the reach of the lights. It wasn't complete privacy but at least people would leave them alone out here unlike on the side of the road. Sam wasn't too keen getting pulled over by a cop naked with his brother. 

For a moment he didn't move an inch, even with the car off and the silence of the night rushing into the cab. He waited for Dean to get antsy, unsure, before he reached out and hauled him across the seat by his jacket collar. Their lips met again, not quite painful but Sam wasn't the gentle type. This time, his big hands slipped under Dean's layers and down his sides, one fisting all the extra material up and out of the way at his back and the other weasley in down the front of his pants. Even through his boxers Sam could feel his excitement. Either Dean was hard up or he was really into it, he could already feel a wet spot which he rubbed in lazy circles with his thumb. 

“How long?” He sucked a kiss long Dean's throat, crushing him closer by the hand at his back. “How long have you wanted..” 

For all of his bravado, Dean crumbled at a little manhandling. He had Sam’s shirt in his hands as an anchor while he struggled not to moan and buck at Sam with a hand down his pants.

He’s breathing heavy, heart racing and trying to remember how to speak. 

Dean tilted his head back on a completely satisfied groan as Sam went for his neck. His cock flexed against Sam’s hand through his boxers and his fists tightened on Sam’s shirt.

“You were thirteen.” He admitted, this hot little strain in his voice. 

He’s known for years he was in love with Sam but it turned to want when he hit puberty.

Thirteen. Sam shivered at the thought. He hadn't realized until a little while later (he was a late bloomer attraction wise) at fifteen, but thinking about Dean back then sent heat arching down his spine. 

When he pulled his hand from his jeans, he could taste Dean's frustration but he was quick to soothe it with his mouth along his ear. Even before this, he knew Dean's ears were sensitive. He'd seen him go all soft and dark eyed any time anyone leaned in close to whisper. One of his lesser kept secrets, that one. 

Sam tugged the button open one handed and the zipper too. The sound of it was obscenely loud in the small cab but Sam paid it hardly any mind. No, his attention was on Dean and his pretty, flushed face. He pulled him out of his boxers and Sam let Dean watch as he licked the pad of his own thumb before lowering it to rub over the tip in maddenning circles. The rest of his hand curved around Dean, searing hot and grip sure. 

“You keep something in your bag, don't you?” It was mildly teasing, but mostly just Sam feeling out how far they were willing to go. He had a sneaking suspicion if he kept toying with Dean like this he was going to pop before either of them were ready. 

Dean’s fingers were so clumsy on Sam’s buttons. It was a little hard to think and do motor skills. He was pretty sure all of the blood in his body was in his dick.

More than a few times he just gripped either side of the opened shirt until a pleasure wave passed and he was able to continue his venture.

Sam’s shirt finally opened and Dean got it to his elbows before he gave up to push his hips against Sam’s hand.

He was getting sweaty, practically clawing his own layers off.

“Shut up.” He told Sam’s teasing tone but one particularly good rub over his head had Dean’s knees closing in a little on a moan that he closed off with a bite to his own lip, hand death gripping Sam’s wrist.

“If I say yes, are you gonna fuck me?” He asked, turning his lust blown barely green anymore eyes onto Sam as he pushed forward enough to nearly be on top of him. Even with Sam’s hand on his stick, he managed to gather the brain cells to start in on Sam’s belt.

With Dean tugging his belt open, Sam couldn't help but cup his face in his hands and drag him in for more kisses. The languid and filthy sort that Sam so secretly loved. He seized those naughty hands again when Dean tried to return the favor and pulled back with a nip at his mouth. 

“Get in the back seat.” It sounded like such an order. Sam wasn't very authoritative in their day to day life but apparently in the bedroom he was all about being in charge. “Get your stuff, too.” With that he released him and finished shrugging out of his shirt since Dean seemed to want skin. 

Nothing wrong with a little reward. 

For years, Sam has seen Dean literally trip over himself after girls. The said jump and he scrambled to obey if she was hot enough.

And this was no different.

Sam shouldn’t be surprised how familiar the motions are to Dean. Like a car sex mode had been switched on, his shoes got kicked off and abandoned on the floorboards, his top layers left against the driver door and that narrow in all the right places body went over the back of the seat like he knew just how to get himself back there mostly gracefully even at this age and size.

He tossed Sam’s bag over the seat and into his lap and dug around in his own. Once he got what he was after, that was sent to the front seat too.

Sam got to watch Dean, tube of lube between his perfect teeth as he lifted his hips and worked his jeans and briefs down his thighs.

He felt a little caught when their eyes met and Dean spit the tube out, feeling it fall onto the seat as he began to pull his jeans off his legs.

“You just gonna watch?” He teased roughly to cover up how self conscious he felt naked in the backseat under Sam’s gaze.

“I'm thinking about it.” Sam smirked, eyes heavy. He gave Dean one last once over before he popped the door and slipped out. There was no way he could possibly make it over the back so he didn't even attempt it. Last time he had attempted it, they were hiding out from something and he’d kicked the rear view mirror. Sam had honestly thought Dean's anger would get them killed he could see him silently fuming where he was hunkered in the front seat. 

Outside the cab, the cold stung like a slap and he wasted no time sliding in between Dean's legs and pulling the door shut behind himself. He had thought that maybe some of the intensity had died when they separated but the moment he put his hands on Dean again it was like touching a live wire. 

They curved around Dean's thighs, pushing them open and up as he marveled at how pliant his big brother had become. He had a feeling if he told him to jump right now, Dean’s only answer would be ‘how high?’. Or maybe he'd just ask if Sam would hurry up. He liked that thought just as much. 

Between them he popped the cap on the bottle and wet his fingers. For as cheap a date Dean was (the man loved dollar beers and cheap alcohol and burgers) he didn't skimp on the necessities. Sam wanted to know if it was because Dean was sensitive or because he preferred the slide or neither of the two but he knew it would embarrass him to ask. Another time. 

For now his fingers tested his rim carefully, tracing slow circles just to feel Dean squirm. 

“Are you always like this?” He was worse than a horny frat girl. Sam was a little obsessed and maybe a lot amused. 

Dean had been sitting modestly when Sam invaded his backseat like a bull in a china shop. He was still very flushed and excited between the legs but his balls were drawn up so tight to his body like they were trying to get away from the cool leather and back up inside of him.

The older brother went easy at Sam’s guidance but he felt heat flush his cheeks when Sam spoke.

“Like what?” It was snippy, defensive. Which meant that these reactions were genuine and Dean wanted to know what was wrong with them.

But it was hard to use that big brother voice with that strain of pleasure in his tone, nails dug into Sam’s arms.

When he couldn’t take the teasing anymore, Dean shoved his hips down and swallowed up one of Sam’s fingers on a held breath.

It had been awhile since he’d bottomed, but not since he played. 

The lube was a personal choice, something he’d settled on after a lot of uncomfortable experiences both solo and with others.

Leave it to Dean to be a priss about one thing: the kind of lubricant that touched his ass.

Deans’s leg curled around Sam’s waist and his hands went down to push at his jeans like he wanted them off or at least down.

Sam was almost too big to bang back here but Dean didn’t care.

He pulled his little brother in for another kiss, if only to shut him up. Dean’s hands abandoned his jeans in favor of getting a fistful of that hair Dean was always telling him was going to get grabbed on a hunt.

Dean forced Sam’s head to tilt with his grip on his hair and those straight tightly lined teeth scraped over Sam’s pulse line.

With the way Dean’s hips fluidly rocked against Sam’s prepwork, it showed little brother that fingers were a definite yes for Dean. He probably enjoyed them a lot more than Sam thought, and would’ve been just fine getting finger fucked in the front seat if he hadn’t waited over ten years to have sex with Sam.

The teeth on his neck drew a low, pleased sort of sound from Sam. Dean's reward of course was another finger easing its way inside. He was tense but not unwilling, so Sam took it slow and gave him an encouraging hand around his length. 

For a moment, he was stuck thinking about what they were doing and how monumentally screwed up it was, but the thought left as quick as it came when Dean's lips found his own. Just like that he was lost in it again, drowning in the perfect lines of Dean's chest, and the freckles on his shoulders, and the warmth of his skin. He was intoxicating. It felt lethal. 

Sam dipped his head to kiss behind his ear, the three fingers he had inside curling and thrusting in a way that had Dean's hips rocking into him. They were both hungry for more, but Sam just wanted to savor this feeling. 

When Dean’s hands finally got ahold of Sam’s length, his lips went a little slow and dumb before he wasn’t even kissing him at all, just breathing against him.

“There’s no way people let you inside of them.” He told Sam in the middle of the heat frenzy they were in.

Even while still rocking against his fingers, Dean showed not reluctance but doubt— “it won’t fit.” He wasn’t afraid but Dean had obviously not been an adventurous bottom.

It was easy to see him young and pulling the woah and turning away when guys tried to touch him there until someone finally was able to relax him enough to show him how good it was.

Someone as prideful and masculine as Dean had probably experimented very tentatively.

It's not the first time someone's been afraid, though Sam wouldn't have pegged Dean as the type. He dipped down to press close, caging his brother in as he kissed along his jaw. 

“You'll never know if you don't try.” He wouldn't force it. If Dean really wasn't into it there was a million other things they could do, but Sam wasn’t going to let his chance slip away if he could have it. 

Between them, he worked his pinky in, holding his tongue. Dean may have been afraid but now that he was relaxed and very aroused, his body was more accepting than he probably thought. 

His teeth caught Dean's ear and he tugged playfully. His brother's body flinched so pretty in response and that was something Sam saw himself getting addicted to. 

“You feel ready to me.” He murmured, voice low against his ear. 

It wasn’t fear Dean was feeling, he legitimately didn’t think Sam would be able to fit simply because he’d never tried anything that size. And he remained skeptical. 

Dean had been giving him a look that said he thought Sam was wrong but it melted and twisted up into the sweetest pleasure that was on the edge of too much followed by a pretty embarrassing shiver when Sam spoke against his ear.

“Then what are you waiting for? A sign?” Dean asked in that harmless defensively snarky sort of way. 

Fuck, Sam had his fingers all up inside of him, was ontop and leading the show and Dean didn’t know if he was proud or mortified at how easily he had given into it.

This thing he had for Sam, it was very dangerous.

He relaxed himself and focused on how good Sam was making him feel and didn’t think at all about how big he was or when he was going to finally try. But he was ready to hold his breath.

When Sam tried, Dean felt the pressure and the resistance but it was the same discomfort it always was. Then the rim slid past where the body was resisting and the rest is an easy slide that had Dean’s back arching on the leather seat, exhaling a quiet pant like he’d been holding it in as the length of Sam filled him.

Deep without even trying and making Dean feel so vulnerable. An arm went over his eyes casually while he tried to tell his body not to squeeze him.

His ass hadn’t broken yet. And Sam was inside. So he guessed his brother was right. He was sure glad he hadn’t bet anything on him being wrong.

Sam moved even a little and Dean's arm came off his eyes to squeeze his shoulder, a low moan escaping and creasing his face in a telltale sign of pleasure. 

Just on the edge of a bruise-like pain that Dean loved. It seemed size made it easy to feel just from penetration whereas smaller guys had to put some oomf into it first. 

“Sam.” He licked his lips, eyes daring to open to look up at him, silently communicating that he just needed a minute.

He took a deep breath to relax a little and nodded, bracing as Dean started to move with him, helping to get over the first time easing into it, and back into that heat where Sam seemed ready to eat him alive.

In the moments where Dean wanted him still, Sam's hands had made paths over his body. Learning every inch in a new light the way he had dreamt about doing as a teen. 

“Okay?” He needed verbal confirmation that Dean wasn't just grinning and bearing it like he was known to do but as soon as he moved he could see the pleasure written on his features. Plain as day. Sam smirked a little, keeping his thoughts on the matter to himself. He always pictured his brother as a size queen even if he hadn't known it about himself yet. He just seemed the type: go big or go home. 

Sam kept it slow and easy, mouth leaving a line of aggression along Dean's throat because if he couldn't have it one way he'd have it another. It was everything he wanted but it still felt a little like doom, getting a taste of this and knowing what he planned to do. Dean would never forgive him. 

“Fuck I knew you were loud.” He enjoyed hearing Dean try and be quiet but he was no good at it. Sam gripped one of his wrists to hold down and the other hand slipped around his neck with no pressure. He just wanted to feel the vibrations against the palm of his hand. If anything, bearing down on him like this drove those sounds up a notch to his utter delight. 

At Sam’s words, Dean cursed a little but he was so lost in it, he couldn’t even build up a threat for embarrassing him. 

He encouraged Sam to let go a little more, as bossy as he could be in the small space.

With room, they would probably me to push and pull type. But here in the back seat Dean is forced to play by Sam’s rules.

But when it turned up a bit, it was when they were kissing again. 

Dean had a hand on Sam’s over his neck, moaning into the liplock as their skin began to slap. 

“Come on.” He dared his brother in the middle of their kiss, biting his bottom lip when he tried to get another one out of him. 

Dean shifted his hips and it made for an angle that had his body submitting to the pleasure in a way that had him pliant and useless to keep teasing his brother.

“Sam.” His teeth clacked. “Fuck. Sammy.” He didn't know what he was asking for, but he sounded like he needed it.

It probably wasn’t smart for Dean to be provoking him so much, considering how long it had been. He was bound to be sore tomorrow but no one ever accused Dean of looking to the big picture. Sam shifted his knees, really digging into the leather (Dean could yell about it later when he wasn’t coming his brains out) to give him what he so desperately needed. 

The hand around his throat flexed, just the edge of pressure before he realized and squeezed his wrist instead. He lifted it up and pinned it to the door above them and found himself wishing they had more room so he could really pin him down. But he had to make due with what they had. It seemed fitting that their first time would be here, any way. 

Sam’s teeth clenched as Dean’s nails caught the meet of his shoulder and drew hot furrows he knew were blood. It was the good kind of pain, the kind that made him fuck harder and care less about Dean’s wellbeing tomorrow. 

“You gonna come or do I have to give you orders?” He ground out, the clutch of Dean’s body driving him wild. It was like he was perpetually riding the edge of orgasm, body clenched tight and arched off the seat. “Do you need permission?” Now that was a bit of a taunt, but Sam had his guesses on how Dean’s mind worked. He was hardwired for following orders. 

Dean’s mind also was reverted back to basics when he was in pleasure like this. There’s no witty comebacks available, no pop culture references, no filter that processed any words further than what was being asked or told to him.

Sam asks so confidently. In his right mind Dean would want to knock him down a peg or two for embarrassing him but like this, rocking the impala and making his own voice hoarse from moaning Sam’s name— the only thing he can say i,”Tell me.” In such a need soaked rough tone.

Dean was ruined. Sam had taken and given more than he’d expected, more than he was used to. After years of close quarters, Sam knew him better than a one night stand could learn in a few hours. 

His dick was practically threatening to bust the skin it was so dark and wet. Dean, if anything, had good control over his body.

He choked on a moan and closed his legs around Sam’s waist.

“Tell me, Sam.” He asked again, pulling on the hold like he wanted to touch himself.

Being someone who liked to be in control (if you asked Dean, he was a control freak) having his big brother give his autonomy away so easily is intoxicating. It was probably a good thing they’d waited until they were adults to do this because he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself when he was younger. But here and now, he settled that giddy feeling inside and sat up to look down at Dean. Those green eyes were eaten up by black, and his freckles had all but disappeared in the flush on his cheeks. Dean’s lips were bitten at and down the line of his neck were darkening marks. He looked ruined. 

Such a sweet moment to savor but he knew Dean couldn’t wait for ever. Sam came to a halt and he held Dean still when he railed against the sudden loss of friction. 

“Come.” The order was low but firm. Sam wanted to see if Dean could let go like this, if he really was on a hair trigger or if it was more or less a show. 

Dean’s skin was slick with sweat and he tried to use that against Sam to get out of his hold when he stopped but Sammy had him pinned so good. 

He could only make a frustrated noise.

But Sam said it.

It wasn’t instantaneous. But he could see the way some pointed tension eased out of Dean, mostly in his legs. His breath got a little caught up and he arched a little more as he made the mess Sam wanted. 

He’d obviously been doing everything he could to try to last for Sam. He did seem like the type of guy to refuse to come until his partner was spent, and on bottom— until the top was through with him.

Dean sagged so heavily in Sam’s hold when it was over, muscles jumping occasionally just from all the strain.

He had no fight left, and probably wouldn’t be driving.

To spare Dean the mess and further discomfort, Sam saved his mess to layer on top of Dean’s own. The had around Dean’s wrist had squeezed hard as he came, showing Dean just how much strength he’d been holding back before. When he withdrew, Sam eased back on the seat a little to give Dean room to cool off. All the windows were fogged over and it was downright stuffy in the cab. He reached in the front seat and handed Dean the flannel he’d been wearing. They needed to do laundry desperately the next time they stopped. 

There were no words. Both of them were dealing with what just happened in very different ways. Sam was heartsick all over again thinking about what leaving Dean after this would do. Not every decision was an easy one to make.

He fixed his jeans and gave Dean the back seat to get decent. Standing outside was a worse shock than before, especially with his hair curled with sweat and his body still cooling down, but it woke up his mind a little too. Sam was quiet as he slid in behind the wheel. Their bags were up here and he dug around for a clean (semi-clean) shirt to pull on.

“You staying back there?” Sam adjusted the mirror so he could see Dean where he was inching back into his jeans. 

Dean was quiet too, had probably been sucked dry of brain cells, but he did agree and sit up once his pants were on.

He leaned on the back of the front seat, hand digging in Sam’s bag since it was on top. He ended up with a not clean, but not smelly too big tshirt and he pulled it on.

It did nothing to hide how claimed his neck was.  
Dean settled in the crux of the door and when he caught Sam looking at him in the mirror, he smiled wordlessly.

“Don’t ride the gas as hard as you rode my ass.” He warned as he curled up to sleep sitting in the back while Sam drove.

Well, this opened up a whole new world of snarky comment material. 

And if Dean’s pleased as pie aura said anything— it said that if he ever lost this— it was going to be devastating.

If Sam's snort was any indication of his intentions, he fully intended on driving like he usually did. Lead foot and all. It wasn't like Dean stayed awake to really see it anyway. 

He drove a little further out than Dean would have, and he sprung for a decent motel. One that had likely been remodeled in the last twenty years. Sam got a room, moved their bags, and only then did he double back to nudge Dean awake. Just from a few hours, he was sore and grouchy, so Sam ducked down and pulled him out. He'd carried Dean a thousand times when he was wounded or knocked out, so he knows how to be gentle but secure. 

The landing on the bed probably wasn't as soft as Sam could've managed but Dean had elbowed him in the head during all of his complaining. 

“You want me to put you in the tub?” There was a smirk to his voice that said Sam was maybe teasing him for being a baby. Just a little. 

Dean mocked him silently while he pulled his gun out from his ass crack and put it under the pillow. And out came a burner phone from his pocket to use as a weapon.

He threw it at Sam.

“Bitch.” It had all of that seething annoyed love behind it that it always did.

Big brother was sprawled out on his stomach, looking like he wasn’t done recouping by a long shot. They’d been lacking in sleep lately.

“It’s already stale,”ew,”Whats a few more hours.” He gave a sleepy sigh, rubbing his face on the pillow.

When Dean got up some odd hour later, he was a little stiff but he really didn’t outwardly complain.

He just took a nice hot shower and cleaned himself really well, checked for damage (some puffiness from use but nothing hurt), and went on a coffee run.

For it being the morning after their first foray into incest, it was pretty much the same as it always was.

Only in a surprising turn of events, when Sam came over to the table to get some of the coffee and breakfast Dean brought, there was a coffee kiss waiting for him along with Dean looking like if Sam teased him, he’d never give him easy affection again.

To Dean, they were in a good place. They were letting this long suffocated thing between them breathe. They were both saying fuck you to the angels and demons. And they had the rings. They couldn’t do anything with them, but the angels seemed scared. And Lucifer hadn’t been bothering Sam too much. So maybe he was scared too. 

He had no idea that Sam was even considering deviating from their plan of keeping it a stalemate while looking for a way to get Lucifer back in the cage. 

To him, this was a peak of solidarity. Whatever they did, they were doing together. Dean was sure of it.

The first thing they do is the laundry and the second thing they do is get back on the road, head into the northern winter to look for work.

Dean’s so far up Sam’s ass he doesn’t realize how close they are to detroit. He just pulls in at a hotel a few towns over for the night and he entices Sam into stopping early with the intent of being intimate.

He has no idea Little Brother was planning on splitting. It was like Stanford all over again, Dean is just so blissfully unaware and enjoying himself as he put a zeppelin tape on to bang to in the room.

They don't make it as far as he was hoping, but he knows exactly why Dean wants to stop so soon and he resigned himself to breaking his brother's heart. If they did this now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to leave and it would just break Dean even more. Sam's plan...it wasn't one he came back from. 

He mulled around, not really unpacking because he didn't plan to stay through the night so instead he set out a few guns that needed to be cleaned. Dean's been walking on cloud nine for the past hour when they'd seen a familiar exit and Sam hated that he was going to ruin that. 

When Dean's arms slipped around his waist, Sam was rigid and unyielding. He didn't sway with the music or lean back into him. It wasn't the body language of someone ready to bang. 

“I don't think we should.” He said quietly, bracing himself for Dean's anger. His brother always hated indian givers. 

The complete lack of a reaction is probably more telling than any anger Dean could have thrown at Sam.

He slowly let go of him when he realized Sam was serious. His gears were trying to turn and process that Sam was rejecting him, for good, but it was so hard to compute.

This was the hardest thing he’s ever faced. Worse than death. Worse than making that damn deal for Sam.

He wasn’t equipped to deal with heartbreak in general, nevermind something of this magnitude.

Dean looked distant, like he was a little at a loss for words. It was beyond awkward, the silence between them while the music played.

And then it washed over him- the anger for Sam letting him think they could have this— for taking the carefully built wall down and thinking he could just rebuild it after what they’d done- and the tape deck shattered partially against the wall after Dean flung it. He left the hotel room without having said a word in return to Sam.

There were no words. He couldn’t make his brother want him.

It must have hurt something awful to leave Dean speechless.

There was the unmistakable sound of the Impala tearing out of the lot and Dean was gone to try to hold himself together without Sam in the same airspace.

It could've been worse, but it feels like a mortal wound. A hole punched out of his chest because he’d hurt the one person he'd promised to never hurt again. 

“I'm sorry.” He told the empty room. 

Sam grabbed his bag, the horsemen rings already tucked safely away. The minute he'd decided his plan, he’d taken them out of Dean's hiding place in the Impala. He never checked, he always just asked Sam to. 

It took a few hours to get to Detroit. But once there he was drawn to Lucifer even in his second rate vessel. It was like someone plucking a strand in his body, tugging him along towards destiny. 

Dean isn't there when the world began to end, and Sam was almost glad for it. The further away from him he was, the safer Dean stayed. 

When Dean got back to the room and found it empty, he just figured Sam wanted space. He thought of calling him in the morning, pretending the whole thing never happened just to have his brother back with him.

But Cas got ahold of his first.

The shockwaves of Sam's acceptance was almost immediate through heaven. Angel radio roared to life the minute everyone realized Lucifer was at full power. There were protocols to be followed, angels to be dispatched into vessels on Earth and most of all they needed their flaming sword. 

Castiel knows they'll be looking for Dean and this time they wouldn't take no for an answer. He also suspected that if Sam had said yes, something had gone catastrophically wrong since they'd last seen each other. Dean was probably getting ready to do something stupid like hunting him down on his own. 

It catches him off guard that Dean doesn't even know yet and Cas has to be the bearer of bad news. 

He doesn’t believe him. There’s no way Sam would say yes. 

So Dean did what a sensible brother would do. He got in his car and he made Cas help him track down the Devil. Who now that he had his true vessel, wasn’t doing much hiding.

Of course Michael was waiting in the wings so to speak, chomping at the bit to get at his brother but Dean wouldn’t say yes. No good came of it in his opinion.

Dean just had no idea that when he tracked Lucifer down, it was at a place that he was supposed to be meeting Michael at.

But Dean shows up ahead of schedule, Michael’s empty meatsuit ready to die to save his brother.

He drove up in the Impala and was stuck in place for a moment or two, feeling hopeless and furious all at the same time while seeing Lucifer wearing Sam. Something he is unfortunately familiar with— the way Lucifer held himself in Sam’s body.

He got out to confront him.

“Lucifer.” He called out to him,”Fun’s over.”

The air of superiority was what made him so different, from the straight lines of his shoulders to the almost pitying amusement in his eyes. Lucifer made Sam look like a different person. 

“Is it really?” He cocked his head, eyes appraising Dean. Likely already having thoughts about using him but it would take time to track Cain down. He would have to add it to the agenda, right after killing his own brother. 

“Because you see, I think it's just getting started.” Lucifer clasped his hands in front of him, having the gall to look sheepish. “You know, your brother had big plans for me.” He circled him, slow and predatory though his eyes remained pleased. “He meant to trap me in here with him and jump back in that hell hole good old Dad put me in.” 

His grin turned hard, a sure sign that it had infuriated him to even think about going back. 

“He almost did it too. The box was open and everything. But you see Dean.” He blinked out of existence, reappearing close enough to push Dean down. “I'm not trapped in here with him, I'm stronger. I'm better. He's just along for the ride.” 

Lucifer bent and picked Dean up by the collar of his shirt, hazel eyes dark. “I can feel him inside, scratching at the walls. Begging me not to hurt you.” He reared back, taking a swing at Dean hard enough that it tore the collar at his neck and he ended up back in the dirt. “It really is like being chained to a comet. Give me a week or two in here and they'll be nothing of him left.” 

Dean didn’t back down, even with the Devil knocking him around like it was nothing. He didn’t come here to be a hero. He came here to be with Sam. He came here to die.

“Sam.” He spit some blood, forcing himself to stand up and get back in Lucifer’s space.

“Sammy, i’m not leaving you.” He promised his trapped brother. “I’m not going anywhere.” He couldn't just count his losses and leave Sam to rot like this. 

Even if Sam tossed him aside, even if he regretted ever touching Dean- none of that mattered. The love that Dean had for Sam was overwhelming and made up his reason for being.

With Sam gone, Dean had nothing to lose, but at the same time- nothing to fight for.

Save a world without Sam? No thanks. Someone else could take a whack. He just wanted to die with his brother.

Dean grasped at Lucifer’s (Sam’s) jacket when he took another hit, feeling the Impala against his back.

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m here.” He wasn’t pleading for his brother to fight, he had no plan coming here, Dean just didn’t want him to be alone with the devil.

Lucifer's jaw clenched and his eyes turned dark and hard. Something about Dean's words, or just the state that he was in had Sam fighting back harder than he had since opening the cage. It sent a shiver through the foothold he had on his body, the tides threatening to change. He hated the human spirit and it's perseverance. 

The rustle of feathers signifying the arrival of a new angel claimed both their attention, and Lucifer's fist hesitated mid swing. 

It was Cas, holy oil molotov in hand. Before he could even think about throwing it, Lucifer snapped and Cas was nothing more than red dust. Pulled apart down to the molecule and the glass broke uselessly at where his feet had been. 

Lucifer turned back, but again found himself at odds with the soul sharing his space. Dean Winchester was a threat to his hold, to dangerous to keep around in any capacity and the moment he made this up in their mind, fingers poised for a second snap, Sam seized the wheel. 

A tear slipped down his cheek and Sam scrambled back and away from where Dean had been pinned to the car. 

“It's okay Dean.” Every minute was a struggle. He could feel Lucifer railing against the flimsy bars separating them. Sam had to be quick. “I got him. I got him Dean.” 

He pulled the rings from his pocket, and forced the incantation out against clenched teeth. The ground opened up to a maw of nothingness, black and endless and hungry. It pulled in everything around it. Sam had never been more scared than he had looking down at it, but also so sure. The things Lucifer had done with his hands wasn't something he wanted to come back from. The images would haunt him and it would only get worse from here. Lucifer had grand, slow and playful human extinction plans. 

Sam spared one last look at Dean before he let himself fall into the hungry abyss. 

Dean was hurt and dazed, just repeating over and over that he wasn’t leaving Sam.

He shook off the fuzziness about the time Sam shook off the Devil.

“No.” He tried to tell him, all he could think was that he didn’t want to be here to learn how to live without his other half.

He was left with fistfuls of grass, trying to get over to the cage to fall in with him, and the cage closed up again.

Dean gave up and layed there for a minute before sitting here at a loss.

Sam did it. He was strong enough to do what needed to be done but Dean was all alone in the world.

Crying like a child with blood on his face and dirt under his fingernails. 

Dean heard feathers,but he didn’t bother looking up. He fully assumed it was Michael or Zachariah, or one of the other bastards.

What he doesn’t expect is that Castiel would be back, having received some sort of gift from God for his role in doing what was right in the end.

Cas watched him, heart wrenching for Dean. This couldn't be easy, but it was a better outcome than any of them could have wanted. The devil was back in his cage. The end no longer lingered in the distance for all of them. 

He came close, fingers pressing to his skin briefly as he healed all of the physical hurts. It wasn't what mattered but it was all he could do. 

“I'm sorry.” He said it because no one else in the world understood what Dean had lost. 

Dean felt the warmth in his face from Cas’ powers but he didn’t care. Not about anything. 

He looked up at Cas, looking confused about him being alive but not asking why.

The remaining Winchester got up and went back over to his car.

“Why do we get to live, and Sam has to die? How is any of this fair?”


	3. Life with Soulless Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is back without a crucial part of his existence-- and what it does to Dean in turn.

Dean drove for weeks, sleeping in the backseat at rest stops when he needed rest, but never actually getting what he needed. 

Mostly he laid there and thought about all of the memories in that car, good and bad.

Fighting in the back seat, fucking in it. Long rides between cases, arguing, singing, just being together.

He stumbled into jobs but he lacked the delicacy needed at times, and either finished messily or ended up having to call it in to Bobby and moving on.

It was unlike him, but he just didn’t know how to do this right now, but there was also nothing else for him to do. He couldn’t just sit there and think about everything this damn apocalypse had taken from him. Because the answer was his whole family and that was too much for anyone to cope with.

He was unresponsive to any care showed by Bobby or Cas. No one understood what he was feeling, so no one knew how to help him.

Months, it goes on and Cas was at a loss at how to make Dean stop this tailspin. Although he had grown to love and empathize with humans he didn't know what they needed or how to give it to them.

Bobby tries, in all the ways he knows how to with Dean. But nothing sticks. He sends him work, he takes work away and Dean finds cases anyway. He suggests retiring. He suggests Dean hunting with others (and boy that had been a blowout) and none of it works. 

Nothing got through to him. When John had passed, something had snapped Dean out of his funk and that something was Sam. This was like trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. It was never going to be whole again. 

At least, that's what everyone thought. 

In a dive bar in Oregon (there was some killings that looked like a rougarou) a familiar hunter came up to Dean. He had a pint in one hand and he looked mildly surprised to see Dean. A bit like seeing a ghost. Walt was his name, and he had ran into John on a job when it was just him and Dean hunting. They'd been amicable and Walt had let them finish out the job after doing most of the leg work. He was Dean's age at the time and John had been a better hunter than both of them so he hadn't minded.

“That brother of yours is a real ass.” He greeted, and not in the affectionate way. This was a man with some complaints. 

When Dean looked up from his bottom shelf shots, it wasn’t a friendly look he gave. The Dean this guy met years ago was gone. He was hardened and jaded from all of the shit that’s been thrown at him.

Gone were the young and excited days. 

“Well, he’s dead.” Dean gave a humorless sort of smile before downing his shot and signaling for another. “So, thanks for the input.” He turned back to the bar in a total ‘get lost’ sort of vibe.

Never had a man look more like he'd put a foot in his mouth. He was apologetic immediately. 

“I'm sorry for your loss man, I just ran into him on a case about a week ago. He about got me killed pullin a nest of vamps.” Here he was thinking that maybe his recklessness had gotten him killed, not knowing how utterly wrong he was. 

“Let me buy you a drink.” 

Dean took a moment to process, but it was about the time that Walt was offering the drink that Dean was grabbing him by his shirt.

“What did you just say? A week?” He let him go when he realized what he’d done, but he didn’t back down.

“Sam’s been gone for months, Walt. So you better start talkin’.” He guided him to sit a little roughly, tapping the bar for a few more. 

He wasn’t thinking big— like Sam being out of the cage somehow. No, he was thinking some monster with a sense of humor was wearing his baby brother’s face and he was ready to go cut it off.

Walt got the sense that something bigger was going on here, so he didn't hold it against Dean even if he had beer all over his hand from being grabbed. He set his glass down and got his mind in order. This seemed important, so he pulled out the pocket notebook he kept in his jacket. John had imparted the importance on keeping a journal, and he had a bigger one for case info but this was just the important dates and locations to keep everything straight. Walt was like that. 

“Let's see. Here.” He flipped back two pages, pointing at a date. Eleven days ago. Wyoming. Vamps. That was what he’d jotted down in blue pen. 

“Rolled in, started asking around, the usual, heard from some of the locals that someone else had been asking around too. Come to find out it was your brother.” They'd met briefly at Ellen's Roadhouse during Sam's psychic phase. They had hit it off extremely well talking about how good some college library was for lore books. 

“He gave me the real cold shoulder, all but told me to get bent. So I went after the lead my own self, only your brother shows up while I'm staking out, making the god awfulest racket, draws the whole goddamn nest out.” Walt rubbed his beard, thinking about the way Sam had looked going after them. No fear. No hesitation. It was like watching a machine. “There must've been seven or eight of em and I'll be damned if he didn't get em all.” 

Dean listened. And well. But he didn’t tell Walt what happened months back. It wasn’t something he exactly went around regaling. Nearly ending the world and then losing his brother to save it.

It was none of his business anyway.

Dean asked questions about Sam’s behavior in a way hunters did when they were trying to figure out what kind of ugly they were looking for.

“If you see him again, you call me, or Bobby. Whatever he is— he can’t be, Sam. It’s not possible.” And Dean seemed so sure of that.

He stepped outside and dialed his surrogate father despite it being late at night.

And also the first time since he told Bobby to go to hell a few weeks back for telling him he was dangerous.

Walt had agreed, and he even got Dean's new number from him in case he did. The whole ordeal took on a new light with Dean's belief that whatever it was, wasn't Sam. He should've known something was up with how many vamps he took out, but no one wanted to think that of a fellow hunter. He hadn't done anything wrong, he was just cold. Impersonal. 

It took three rings for Bobby to pick up, but it didn't sound like he'd been sleeping. No, from the dread in his voice it sounded like he hadn't wanted to answer. Last he checked Dean was still pissed off for him trying to help and Dean could hold a grudge better than anyone. Especially when Bobby hadn't apologized and still refused. 

“Hello?” He braced himself for the worst, hardening his heart and reminded himself that Dean was hurting. 

There wasn’t a hello but that wasn’t really a new thing. Dean had kind of a straight to the point approach when it came to phone conversations.

“Some freaks runnin’ around hunting with Sam’s face on.” He greeted Bobby. “Just ran into Walt, he bumped into him, didn’t go well.” 

Dean sounded pissed but not at Bobby this time. “Can you ask around?”

Surely Bobby didn’t know, he would’ve told him.

“You really think some monster's playing hunter?” Bobby didn't sound too convinced but he also wasn't going to risk pissing Dean off again. “I'll ask around, see if anyone's seen him lately.” 

There was some shuffling around in the background as Bobby went to his desk. “Keep your phone close kid. I'll ring if I hear somethin.” Bobby knew better than to press his luck and ask Dean how he was doing. 

By mid morning Bobby called back with a lead. 

“Colorado. Day before yesterday. Dianne said he had a drink at her place.” Another hunter bar like the Roadhouse. Dean was very familiar. This monster Sam was really getting around without Dean, it seemed. And wasn't it just fitting too that he was up in mountain country like Sam loved so much. 

Dean wasn’t exactly nearby but he’d been heading that direction after leaving the bar. Wouldn’t be the first time he deja vu traveled the same way as Sam. And it wouldn’t be the first time a monster enjoyed irony. 

He seemed better with a goal that meant something to him. Dean was more focused sounding, sharper. Ready to go protect his brothers memory. 

Bobby always got information so fast, it was why Dean hadn’t hesitated to call him even with him upset.

“Any ideas where he might be headed?” A lot of hunters went to hunter bars to look for work. “I’m a state away.”

“It's thin, but she said he seemed interested in something up in Montana some other hunters were talking about. Demon signs. No one wanted to touch it.” Bobby hated sending Dean out on something so thin as hearsay, but it was his choice if he went or not. 

“Sorry I don't have more for you.” And he was. Bobby wished he could've called him back and told him Walt was mistaken. That no one had seen Sam Winchester since he put himself in a box nearly five months ago now. But he couldn't. “I'll keep callin around. Don't want to make anyone too nervous, though.” 

Last time hunters had been nervous about Sam, they'd both taken lead to the chest and ended up running around heaven. 

Dean pulled over to get a different map out, but before he did, he made sure to say,”Thanks, Bobby.” And for the first time in a long time, he sounded like he meant it.

“I’m gonna check it out. I’ll be in touch.” 

He switched through the collection that used to be organized by his navigator but was currently a mess and he committed a path to memory before getting back on the drivers side and driving through the night to go hunt his phantom brother.

Like he’s done for months, Dean didn’t bother hustling for enough money for a room, he just parked the impala when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and got a few before heading out again.

When he got in the general area, Ruby’s knife went into his waist band with his gun and he went looking.

Montana is nice this time of year; Bobby had called back with a more precise location after looking up said demon signs so he at least had a place to start in big sky country. 

The bar was filled with a haphazard crowd of bar flies and no Sam, and the economy hotel had a few cars in the lot but nothing flashy. 

The woman behind the counter was decently pretty, if a bit plain. She popped her gum as Dean walked in, eyeing him over. 

“Singles are forty a night.” She told him, not bothering with waking the computer up yet. Some people just wanted to know their rates and clearly couldn't read the front windows of the office. 

“Good to know.” Dean gave a charming sort of smirk that said trouble. Women had always liked it and broken or not, Dean could play the game when he needed to.

“I’m actually looking for someone. Real tall. Kinda grumpy.” He kept it light, pulling a photo of Sam, a little younger, out of his wallet to show her.

And to negate any hesitation, the next thing he showed was a flash of an FBI badge. 

She remained uninterested and unimpressed by the flirting and even the gentle prodding about Sam. But when Dean flashed that badge her brows rose. This was a small town, you didn't see shit like feds unless it was a meth house raid. 

“Yes sir I did.” She sat up finally, leaning closer to the cut out. “He rented a room from me yesterday.” Her blond curls spilled over her shoulder as she leaned in to whisper. “Is he like a serial killer or somethin?” 

Dean perked up a bit when she came out with it but kept it simple. 

“He’s dangerous, that’s all i can really say.” He knew the mysterious thing creeped them out more usually, made them want him caught if only in hopes of safety.

“Do you know if he’s here now?” With questions about what he was driving before Dean left her a number.

“If you see him, just be cool.” He gave her a wink before heading out with his info.

She didn't know if he was here or not, but he had been driving an older model Ford Bronco. Whether or not she would be cool under pressure was a concern, but once Dean stepped out into the parking lot it didn't matter. Sam was there, standing beside the Impala. He didn't look surprised in the slightest. In fact he didn't look much of anything besides alive. He'd gotten a haircut, or a trim rather. It wasn't much shorter but it was shaped now. Besides that, he was dressed like always and from the way his jacket hung on his left he was packing. Sam always preferred crossbody drawing. 

“Should put a silencer on this thing. I could've made her a mile out.” His lips quirked at the end, but the amusement never made it to his eyes. 

Dean tried not to look surprised, but it was hard. It really did seem like Sam, in the flesh, but different. Dean could tell right away it wasn’t his Sam.

“Who said i was hiding? Been lookin’ for you.” Dean had his hand on the gun behind his back, but he hadn’t made a move to draw it. It had just been impulse control of surprise.

“How’d you get his face?” He asked. “We meet you somewhere?” He stepped closer to his car and subsequently Sam.

“Well you found me.” Sam seemed nonplussed about that. He was leaning back on the driver's side door, effectively cutting off Dean's escape. 

“I'm not a shifter. You can test me if you want.” He knew Dean well enough to know he wouldn't believe anything until he tested every possibility himself. Sam was resigned to the whole roll, and he tolerated the silver test, the holy water, a gold knife, a penny in his mouth, the taste coppery and unpleasant but Sam just spit it out. Not the undead either. 

“Satisfied?” Sam rolled his cuffed sleeve a little higher to keep it away from where his arm was sluggishly bleeding. “Anything else you wanna try?” 

When Dean realized this was Sam in front of him.. he didn’t know what to think. There was something different about him, sure, but it was Sam…

He felt so angry, more so than relief.

The next thing Dean tries is a sucker punch to the jaw. “Where the hell have you been?” He growled. “You got out of that damn cage somehow and no postcard?”

He shook his hand just once, always surprised at how solid Sam was. 

“What happened to you?”

Sam rubbed his jaw, but he didn't even look annoyed. There was an evenness to his gaze that was usually vibrant with emotion. Sam was very much someone who was expressive but this was the absence of that. 

“I don't know. One minute I'm jumping in the cage, the next I'm here. Dropped down in Kansas.” He gave a shrug, like it was no big deal. “I started hunting.” 

Which begged the question how long had he been out. 

Dean was having such a hard time processing this, he looked like he had a million questions beyond the few the came out. And an inability to ask them all.

He did hug Sam, because he had to. He just needed to feel his brother alive and in front of him but when he pulled back he said,”How long have you been back, man?” He seemed a little hurt by the fact that Sam hadn’t contacted but he understood.

“You’re my brother, no matter what.” Maybe Sam had thought it was better to cut ties after what they’d done. 

Whatever Sam had gone through with the Devil riding shotgun… it seemed to have changed him, but Dean didn’t care about that. He just wanted his brother back.

The hug is different than all the ones that came before it. Sam is stiff and unyielding like a stranger in Dean's arms. He gave him one business pat on the back when he thought it should be over and they settled apart. 

“About two months.” Two months without Dean, walking around like this changed thing. Hunting, recklessly if you asked Walt, on his own. Dean didn't know it but a job he'd abandoned halfway through about four weeks back, Sam had picked up and finished. He and Bobby had been none the wiser. 

Someone walked by and gave them a weird look as they went into a room, bringing attention to the fact that they were standing in the middle of the parking lot. 

“I was on my way out, you wanna crash in my room?” Dean looked like he'd been driving nonstop because he had been. Sam didn't mean it offensively he was just being direct. The tables were turned it seemed. Sam pulled the room key out of his pocket in question. 

Dean’s handling this all the best he could- but it was a lot. And hardly any of it good. Sam was back. For two months with no contact, didn't seem surprised or pleased to see him. And now he was ready to keep on going without him.

It’s almost a worse feeling than their last moments together before the prom. He could still remember how stiff Sam had been in his arms. 

He steeled his expression,”It was just sex, Sam. You gonna punish me for it for the rest of my goddamn life? I’m the only family you have.” It felt like an excommunication, all of this new information.

Sam was still in front of his door.

“Move.”

“What?” Now Sam looked a bit surprised, or maybe like he hadn't followed Dean's train of thought. To him it was a leap because the two weren't even remotely connected. 

“No I liked the sex. It was good.” He said it so simply. Like it was that easy to admit. The same Sam who had given him the cold shoulder. “I just have shit to do. I'm working a case.” Sam did move off the door though, and he gave Dean room to open it if he so chose. 

Dean felt just as yo-yo’d as Sam. 

“Hello!” Dean gestured to himself. “Thirty years of hunting experience standing right in front of you. Is this not family business anymore? Just wanna be on your own now? What’s going on?”

He opened the door but he hadn’t left yet. 

There was a calculated pause from Sam, his eyes taking in Dean like he was weighing him against something.

“You'll get in the way.” He didn't even sound sorry for saying it. “I've heard how you've been hunting lately.” Sam took a backstep and caught the swing Dean took at him, not even phased. Something was really broken in Sam, but god it made him sharp. 

He gave Dean's fist a squeeze and let him go. All those hunter bars he'd been hitting had been to run recon on Dean and sniff out new cases. Sam was pretty well versed in what vicious cycle he'd been caught up in lately. 

“Who taught you how to hunt?” Dean had asked angrily as he took the swing that didn’t connect. He looked impossibly more miffed until Sam spoke.

Then his jaw tightened and he was seething.

“Yeah, well, my brother died.” Dean told him through almost grit teeth. 

It had been an awful few months. He could admit that. Things had been bad. But for Sam to use that as a reason not to hunt with him? He seemed really gone.

“Still dead by the looks of it. I don’t even know who you are.”

There was no trying to convince Dean he misunderstood, or soothe his ruffled feathers. Sam just watched him have his little meltdown. 

“I'm me. I just came back, better.” And that was how he saw it. Unclouded by emotion, unweighted by conscience. Sam was ruthless but effective. “Believe what you want. I know there's no convincing you.” 

He checked his watch, disappointed to see his window had come and went. This had taken longer than he anticipated. “Anything else you'd like to get off your chest?” He twisted the room key in his fingers thoughtfully. 

“Or do you want to blow off some steam?” Now that was a come on. And a brazen one at that. Sam wasn't even this direct when he was chasing tail. 

Dean kind of guffawed at Sam’s suggestion. “Is he fucking kidding me.” He asked himself. This whole conversation if he wrote it out probably still wouldn’t make sense to him. Sam kept throwing him for so many loops. 

“And then we’re going hunting?” He put it out almost like an ultimatum but really his pulse was so loud he could hardly think straight. He felt a migraine coming on.

Maybe a nightmare sort of Djinn got him. No rainbows just darkness.

There was a long beat of hesitation. Sam knew if he reminded Dean how ruined he'd been after their first time together and how he'd be even more of a liability after, Dean would probably throw another swing and then get in his car and take off. And while that didn't particularly bother him, the thought that Dean might then come back after him to try and ‘fix’ him was worrisome. He didn't want to be fixed.

“We missed our window for tonight. It only comes out to feed for an hour or two.” It was the truth, sort of. There was a second time it emerged near dawn. Sam planned on going when Dean was asleep. “So, tomorrow?” He offered. 

It was enough to get Dean at least in the door. Sam had been here since yesterday and yet the bed was still fresh made. Unslept in. His things were at the table, a new laptop (since Dean had everything) and he must've acquired some new gear as well. There was a container of gun oil on the table like he'd been cleaning. 

Sam wasn’t the same Sam that left that night. But Dean wasn’t the same Dean either. He hadn’t been sleeping much and the little he did get gave him enough gas.

He was fresh off a couple hours outside of town in the backseat, and even if Sam wore him out he probably wouldn’t get much more.

Dean was tormented by the events and Sam showing up here wasn’t going to make it go away.

He shrugged out of his jacket, amulet obviously tucked into his shirt. He took everything in, facial shrugged at the new geek box and picked up the gun oil nosily.

Dean was asking questions about the hunt, a little leary like a stray dog, and still stung enough from the last time that he wasn’t making the first move.

Sam answered, straightforward and plain while he stripped out of his jacket. His shirts came next and then he was crowding into Dean. Those big hands curved around his waist and he pressed in along his back. His mouth was searing hot as it pressed to the base of Dean's jaw, right at his pulse point. 

“Do you want to talk shop all night?” He teased, like Dean was the one wanting to chit chat too much instead of getting to the good stuff. It was such a Dean thing to complain about. “Or are you going to let me fuck you?” Sam’s voice was low and dirty against his ear. 

He may have been playful and teasing their first time around, but this Sam had no inhibitions. Nothing was off the table. 

It’s jarring and almost uncomfortable to have Sam so bold and straight forward when Dean had spent so many months thinking he’d said yes to the Devil just to escape this thing between them.

Dean was a little stiff at first touch, but Sam spoke so close to his ear and he couldn’t help but melt into him a bit.

His heart hurt at how good it felt to have Sam near him but he didn’t give that away. He just pulled his own shirt off and turned in Sam’s space so he could shut that smart mouth up with a kiss.

With the very strong come on from Sam, Dean relaxed enough to open his brother’s belt and jeans with deft, eager fingers.

Dean wasn’t fumbling or shy in the face of Sam’s boldness. It really helped him in a way, not being able to sense any doubt in his touch or his words.

This wasn’t someone who didn’t want him. It would be confusing later, it had been confusing at first, but right now in the heat of the moment all Dean can do is try not to moan while clawing to get his dick out.

Now that Dean was on board, Sam was pleased. This was what he wanted, uncomplicated mutual release. No feelings talk or apologies he didn't really mean. Just Dean clawing at him and Sam eager to give him everything he wanted. 

He hummed when Dean's hand slipped inside of his jeans and his own hand buried in Dean's short strands and pulled until his neck was bared. Sam’s teeth scraped along the skin and the marks he left behind would be sore later. When he got tired of pussyfooting around the actual fun he scooped Dean up and carried him to the pristine bed. 

On it, he yanked the rest of Dean's clothes off and manhandled him over until he was on his stomach. Dean wasn't going to tolerate this willingly, he knew, but Sam was going to make him enjoy it. 

His knees bracketed Dean's in, keeping him in place while he palmed over his rear. Sam gave him a single stinging slap before he spread him wide. A thumb brushed over his hole and that was about all the warning Dean got before his mouth was there making a meal out of him. 

Dean wasn’t very easy to manhandle for anyone except Sam Winchester. He doesn’t allow Sam to do it but Sam knows Dean’s weaknesses and tendencies. It’s nearly nothing to get him over.

The older man is confused by the way Sam was holding him in place. It was vulnerable and uncomfortable in a way that had him pushing up on his arms and trying to work his hips out of Sam’s hold with mild quiet complaining. 

He jumped and halted his escape at the slap, giving a breathless sort of laugh that said he enjoyed that sort of play, but he choked on it when Sam went face first into his ass.

Not his first rodeo but Dean wasn’t someone that tolerated being held down for any length of time so he likely hadn’t ever done this the right way.

Stuck like this and forced to move through the too much levels of pleasure, Dean was a noisy little puddle on the bed under Sam.

He bucked occasionally, made overwhelmed noises and tried to turn his hips, but it was just instinct running him off.

“Sam.” He sighed roughly, fingers messing up the neatly made bed by tearing at it for purchase.

This went on until Sam broke Dean like a wild horse and it was just him subtly rocking his hips in time with his tongue and making these low drug out sounds against the mattress while pulling his own hair.

Even through all of the resistance, Sam can feel the break coming before it happens. Dean may have been unwilling but he was enjoying it. He kept on until there was no resistance anymore. Sam got him so wet and relaxed, Dean hardly even tensed at the first finger. The second took more time and patience but Dean wasn't going anywhere and it was worth the pay off. He held him spread wide on two fingers and licked deeper inside, marveling at how rigid Dean went. Sam wondered distantly if he'd come or if it had just been a close call. 

Sam did it again just to be a jerk and he wasn't surprised at how hard Dean clenched down in response. 

“That good?” He bit him on the meat of his cheek, just a sharp little press of teeth. The weight on the bed shifted as Sam leaned to reach off the edge, fingers snagging his bag so he could get the lube out of the side pocket. 

When he shifted back over him, two slick fingers pressed inside, and a third tested the rim curiously. 

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Dean slurred miserably against the sheets, unable and unwilling to fight or stop Sam, but upset with him all the same.

For dominating him, but also for rejecting him, for leaving him, for coming back and not coming home. To Dean, to Baby. To Bobby.

Dean’s complaining turned back into held back (and some escaped) moans when those fingers began to do their thing.

His body opened up really well, but that was a lot because Sam was forcing his body to relax by giving it so much pleasure.

“Come on,fuck, i’m not a toy.” He growled a little, twisting his hips to disrupt Sam’s lingered stretching.

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: are you sure about that? But he jerked his fingers in a hard curl that sent Dean's back bowing like a cat. 

“Sit still.” He snorted, like Dean was overreacting. Sam flirted with the idea of feeding Dean another finger, the last finger, even gave him the pressure of the pad of his thumb along the rim but he sighed and backed off. 

Dean would do more than complain if he had a fist in his ass and Sam had a sneaking suspicion he'd get decked again if he made any sock puppet jokes. Which he absolutely would have. 

“You want it like this?” He withdrew his fingers entirely, giving Dean the option to turn over if he wanted. He'd behaved well enough for most of the torture, Sam was satisfied. 

Dean didn’t turn over, but he did look over his shoulder at Sam so he could see his glassy green eyes and blotchy, flushed skin from the onslaught.

“Just hurry up.” He rushed him grumpily but when Sam’s body braced over his, Dean’s back fit his body like another piece of the 3-D puzzle that they were.

It seemed like pure relief to have Sam inside, filling the gap he’d made and making Dean feel more held together than taken apart. 

“Sam.” He reached back and gripped his brother’s thigh.

It wasn't as intimate feeling as before. Maybe because of the position but most likely because of Sam. There was something detached about the way he went about bringing them both pleasure. Sure, he was playful, he worked to overwhelm and surprise Dean. But there wasn't anything deeper than what he'd offered before: let's blow off some steam. 

He sucked a dark mark along the back of Dean's neck (letting everyone who saw him for the next few days know he took it from behind) as he waited for Dean's body to adjust. When he'd relaxed enough to move, Sam hooked an arm around Dean's shoulder and he hauled him back into one long roll of his hips. 

Slow, but so achingly deep. He kept that pace, warming them both up and getting them wanting of more. 

It’s good sex, really good sex. But that was all it felt like for Dean. Right now it’s okay. But it would feel bad later.

Dean stayed with him, moving with him and encouraging him until they were fucking like this was a regular thing, Dean’s ass was sore already but he was tough. He could take it.

He wasn’t mad after. There was no more arguing or anything. No more questions. Dean didn’t sleep but he was quiet.

There seemed to be something so crucially missing in his brother and he couldn’t for the life of him fathom how terrible it must’ve been for him to be so changed.

Dean got up eventually and took himself to shower without any complaints, suppressing the hitch in his step.

He did lay down when he was done, though. “When do we go tomorrow?” He asked, seeming more lucid and capable than the stories Sam heard in bars. 

They made it sound like Dean was a wreck but now that he wasn’t yelling at Sam in a parking lot, he seemed fine.

He needed to call Bobby but he was waiting to catch a moment alone.

“Dusk.” It was crepuscular but if he said that, the charade was over. Dean was smarter than he let on, he'd ask Sam why they weren't going at dawn then. 

“I'm going to grab a shower.” He ducked into the bathroom and savored the time to himself where he didn't have to pretend around Dean. It was exhausting and one of the main reasons he didn't track him down besides the hunting. 

When he came out, Sam didn't join him in bed. He sat at the table and sharpened his two knives and then he got on his computer for a bit, eating up time. It was creeping into the am hours when Dean's snores were finally at a comfortable level and Sam dressed silently. This at least, he was no stranger to. He knew how to sneak around Dean. 

Especially when Dean was in dreamland deep with an angel. 

Castiel was sitting beside him on the hood of the Impala overlooking some sort of great mountain range. “You're thinking about Sam.” Not a question. Cas was familiar enough with Dean's dreamscapes to know what things meant now. Big sky country and rocky mountains meant Sam was on the brain. 

Dean seemed troubled but not in the angry at the world way he has been. This was a quieter sort of feeling.

“Cas.” He seemed surprised, but he was welcoming. “I.. uh..” he thought about apologizing but didn’t.

“Sam.” He nodded, facial shrugging and looking out at the view. “Sam made it out of the cage. Months ago.” He looked at Cas. “But something isn’t right. I think Lucifer took a part of him.”

“How is this possible?” Cas knew Dean didn't have the answers but it was worth pondering over regardless. He seemed in deep thought, dark brows pulled down. “I could come assess the damage.” The offer is tentative. So cautious because Dean in these past few months hadn't been accepting of anyone’s solutions for his pain. 

It had made him furious at times in a way that Cas genuinely couldn't understand. 

He didn't press for an answer, just sat watching a deer with it's great horns drinking from a lake before them. It's surface a perfect mirror of the overcast sky. It was a sky that said snow but the ‘temperature’ (if you could call it something so physical in a dream) was comfortably warm because Dean preferred the warmth and sunshine. 

They sat for a few moments longer before Dean put his arm around Cas. He was seeking comfort, so whatever was going on had him thrown off balance.

“If you’re not busy, maybe you could stop by.” He agreed. “He’s so different… but he’s alive, you know, I can’t wrap my head around it.” He looked up at the sky.

“Do you think it was God?” He wondered aloud. 

Cas sighed deeply before nodding. “Most likely.” He brought Cas back twice now for Dean. Clearly he was intervening when it came to the people in the Winchester path. It stood to reason he might have more planned for him or for them both. 

“Where are you staying?” 

When Dean turned to answer, a knock at the door pulled him out of the dream rather abruptly. Weak sunlight was streaming in around the curtains and Sam was nowhere to be found. 

Cas stood on the other side of the door, looking like he'd actually walked out of Dean's dreams. 

Dean answered in his tshirt and briefs. “Son of a bitch snuck out on me.” He told Cas in greeting, beckoning him inside before he grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, collecting his things.

He filled Cas in a little more on the way Sam had been behaving, and when they headed out to the Impala, Dean called Bobby to notify him as well.

The older Winchester was already looking and sounding better with Sam known to be alive and roaming the Earth but there was this new edge to him that was equal parts guarded and equal parts worried.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and he cocked his head like he was listening to something. 

“His angel warding is gone.” Meaning Cas knew exactly where he was. When Dean went to turn the key in the ignition Cas put a palm on his shoulder and they were plunged into the deep woods. 

It was humid and damp under the tree cover and alive with life this early in the morning. Cas looked badly out of place in his suit and trench coat, but Dean was outfitted appropriately. Even if he still had his car key poised in hand instead of a weapon. 

Sam stood over the mangled pile of some creature, splashed with black ichor. There were a few scratches on him that looked painful but he seemed more interested by their arrival. 

“You called Cas?” Sam didn't like that. Not one bit. He was a threat and not one Sam could easily dispatch like the others. 

Dean grumbled under his breath, putting his key in his pocket awkwardly.

“No, you don’t get to do that.” He had his big brother voice back now. “You left me behind.” And boy was he pissed about it.

He didn’t confirm or deny calling Cas. The dream walking still wasn’t a thing Dean liked to talk about. It never failed to sound intimate when he put it to words.

“And You lied to me.” He accused, back to his usual disappointed brother act. Like when Sam was psychic. “You know what, forget it. I don’t care. Let’s just get out of here.” He gestured to Cas to do his thing with Sam. 

Cas didn't want to do this here, so he reached out despite Sam's protests about his car (really anything to get away) and pulled them both back to the room. 

“Dean. C'mon. You know it's me. Why are you still pushing this?” He edged away from Cas, still holding his silver knife all splattered with ichor. It wouldn't even phase Cas, though which was disappointing. 

The angel cornered him and sat Sam down on the edge of the bed. His hand pressed to his chest and seemed to phase into it. Through his shirt and everything. When Cas pulled his hand free he looked grim. 

“He doesn't have a soul.” He turned his gaze to Dean. “It's gone.”

Sam's jaw clenched, eyes flicking from one to the other. “Who cares, I'm better this way.”

Dean looked like that was something he hadn’t expected. “His soul?” He questioned. “Is he even him?” He couldn't help but ask. But being told it was Sam just missing a very big part that made him him, it was easier to accept.

“You don’t think… it’s in the box, do you?” That seemed like such an impossibility. 

“You be quiet, the adults are speaking now. You’ve had your chance.” He snarked to his brother before looking back at Cas. “Is there anything we can do?”

He leaned against the table.

“I'm not sure.” Cas looked like he was dreading the answers though. If Sam's soul was in the cage, he didn't think he could swing a rescue like that. They'd need someone more powerful. 

“I don't want it back.” Sam said quietly, interjecting between their back and forth. 

Cas paid him no mind. “I need time to ask around.” He had never run into this before but he knew other angels in different sectors of heaven had. “In the meantime, keep an eye on him.” 

With that, Cas blinked out of existence and Sam frowned at the empty spot he left behind. 

Dean had steadily ignored Sam as well. He didn’t have a soul, he didn’t know what he wanted. And He wasn’t going to get his way this time. 

“I talked to Bobby.” He told his brother. “Get cleaned up, he’s got something for us.” It seemed Dean was taking point and not taking no for an answer since Sam apparently couldn’t be trusted.

Sam looked down and seemed to notice for the first time how disgusting he was. He got up and marched into the shower despite wanting to stay and argue his point longer. Really, Dean couldn't make him do anything, he could walk away and go out on his own again and that would be fine by him. But Dean wouldn't let him go. He'd spend every waking moment trying to track Sam down and contain him. 

So maybe he would manipulate him. Convince Dean that it would benefit them both, him living without his soul. Namely through sex because his brother was weak and needy and Sam could see right through him. 

When he came out of the bathroom, it was just in a pair of briefs which he knew was a very distracting view. He took his time choosing clean clothes, wondering how long it would take to chip away at Dean's anger by dangling himself like meat. Sam could do this for weeks if he had to. Months. Anything to keep his soul away. 

In the same way he’d done for years, Dean watched Sam in a casual way. And sometimes not so subtle since Sam knew how he felt.

Sam was right about one thing- Dean was easy to distract. 

“We’ll grab food on the way out of town.” Dean tilted his head a little to watch Sam put his jeans on but he looked away when Sam looked at him.

“We’ll be there by nightfall.” It wasn’t very far at all. 

Dean peeked up again when Sam put his shirt on and then back at the map when he sat down to do his shoes.

Such a predictable peepingtom.

“Whatever you say.” Sam packed up his things and didn't say another word to tip Dean off about what he was lacking inside. It may be exhausting but he was willing to play pretend normal for a while. 

He even patted the Impala and made all of the appropriate ‘I missed you’ comments once he was in the passenger seat even though he felt no attachment to this hunk of metal whatsoever. It was just a car. 

“Want a tape in?” He offered, feeding Dean more pointless comforts. 

Dean hadn’t spent enough time around Sam to know how much He was playing him. They swung a drive thru and hit the open road with a bad company tape in, letting it fill the space since neither of them had much to say.

It’s too late when they arrive to question officials but not too late to go hear local gossip.

Nothing like your neighbors you’ve known your whole life stabbing themselves to death to get a dive bar talking.

Dean took a seat casually like a polite passerby, introduced himself when prompted and settled in to absorb.

Sam split off and went to the pool tables after getting a beer he wouldn't drink. He was working the con just like Dean with the added benefit of pocketing them a little money too. He even gave one of the guys his twenty back for a particularly important hunk of information. 

When he came back to Dean’s side sometime later his pockets were heavy with bills and secrets. “You get anything?” He still had the same beer, gone lukewarm and flat. It looked like he had maybe had a sip out of it. 

He didn't order another, just kept this one close for appearances. So far, soulless Sam ate without joy, had sex to release tension in the body, didn't drink, and he never slept. 

Dean had been watching and studying Sam just as much. But this was a good crowd for Dean to get answers in. He didn’t have to play bad cop, or attempt good cop. Dean just used those freckles and pretty eyes and a decent tab to get a sad sap looking to talk.

They’d left the bar and rejoined their group shortly before Sam arrived.

“Vengeful spirit.” He told his brother before taking a shot. “Vics are all in the same circle.” He looked up at his big little brother. “About a year ago, someone named Phil got caught up in a machine at work. Probably not much left if you catch my drift.” Sam was usually the research guy so Dean wouldn’t have things like an obit or a news article without an actual computer. He was pretty oblivious about phone searches still. 

But the drunk guy made it sound like there was almost nothing left. 

Dean took another shot, not even wincing at the burn of it. He needed it to continue to deal with his existence. 

“You?” He said without looking at him to keep the recon on the downlow.

“Pretty much the same.” Sam agreed, cool as a cucumber. “He apparently had a falling out with a group of poker buddies after one of them slept with his wife.” A good enough motive to come back and possess people into brutal murder. Sam seemed pretty unphased. 

“We should give the wife a shake down, see if she kept anything of his.”

“Sounds about right.” Even if the wording wasn’t something Sam would have ever said, Dean didn’t give him a hard time.

No use, he had no damn soul and he wasn’t hurting anyone, not yet anyway.

“We can go first thing.” Dean got up and paid the tab, ready to find out more about the vic now that they new they had another death they hadn’t known about to look into.

Dean had Sam’s old laptop that was probably in need of an upgrade and he’d been kind of uncharacteristically quiet ever since Castiel’s revelation.

He knew Cas wouldn’t like it, but he was thinking about calling Crowley. Maybe when they were done with this case, he would reach out.

Dean slid the laptop over to Sam, articles open,”Do your nerd thing.” He could research but Sam always was able to dig way deeper than him.

Sam took one look at the offered laptop. It was old and in need of replacement. He was very happy with his newly acquired (stolen) one. It was quick and efficient. 

“I've got my own.” He pushed it back to Dean and got up to fetch it. Sam sat and plugged away at the research with none of the complaints or restlessness he sometimes got. By midnight he had a trove of knowledge collected. Death certificates, obituaries, articles about the work accident, information on his surviving poker buddies. The whole nine.

And when he was satisfied they were adequately prepared to solve the case, he closed the laptop and brought himself over to Dean. He kneed onto the bed where he'd been kicked back watching tv and drinking beers and he started plucking his pants open. 

Sam had to remind Dean what he had now that he lacked a soul. 

Dean was almost through a six pack, and that was after all the shots at the bar. His fingers were warm where they half heartedly deterred Sam’s.

He should’ve known better. That Sam only wanted him because he didn’t care anymore. About anything really, which meant he didn’t even want it, then. He didn’t want to know what his motives were. If it was Sam physically using him or worse, if he was trying to emotionally manipulate him.

But the belt popped open and Dean sighed, letting Sam pull it through the loops, his hips raising to let it slide free.

Dean opened his mouth to tell him he didn’t want to but he couldn’t once he felt his jeans get tugged open.

He did want it. Even if Sam didn’t. 

Dean's shirt was pushed up out of the way and Sam pulled his jeans open. He slipped his hand inside, stroking him through his briefs just to feel him fatten up and when he was satisfied Sam dipped down. His long strands tickled along Dean's stomach and he didn't complain at all about the hand that gathered them up and held them out of the way. 

“I had fantasies about this when I was fifteen, you know.” He murmured, lips brushing Dean's length through the thin fabric. “I wanted to know what it would be like, touching you.” 

Sam was so good at pretending, giving Dean want he so desperately wanted. This was emotional manipulation in it's most aggressive form but Sam knew if he did it well enough, some day Dean wouldn't remember to care that it was. He would be too satisfied with what he had. 

His mouth closed around the shiny tip, and Sam hollowed his cheeks. Dean loved this, he had been known to brag about finding good lip service. 

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice was rough and so trusting. Too trusting. His fingers tightened on Sam’s hair a little, not revealing in turn that he teased him about the hair so much to hide how much he thought about holding it just like this.

His thighs tensed when Sam’s mouth touched him, but he let Sam show him what he was made of for a good long while before he got those throaty moans and started rolling his hips in time with Sam’s mouth.

“Sammy.” He keened, legs holding him close between them. A knee went up enough to rub firm and caring at the front of Sam’s jeans while he was on his dick like a sucker fish.

Even soulless and cold, Dean was still so ruined for him. For Sam’s attention.

It wasn’t what it was before, it wasn’t what it could be, but it was more than Sam had been willing to let him have before his trip to be eternal with the Devil, and Dean wasn’t strong enough to say no.

His hand caught Dean's wrist, just holding it for a bit while he felt around. But once he could feel that aching line in his jeans he pinned it to the bed away from them both. 

Sam pulled off on a wet pop and he licked along the underside to give Dean a good show. He was likely sore down below from yesterday, but Sam’s mouth kissed lower anyway, tongue snaking out to lick as low as he could reach with Dean's jeans bunched awkwardly at his thighs. 

“You want it?” Sam's hazel eyes flicked up to meet his own, gaze piercing for it's steadiness. He knew Dean had loved his mouth down there, and he'd made such pretty ruined sounds. Sam was pretty sure he could make him come without even touching his dick. 

Dean never would have said yes without Sam showing him the light. But after nearly crying yesterday with pleasure, he hesitated before he could say no.

He was a little sore, a bruised feeling, but Dean always did like his hurts to be stressed a little. It wasn’t something he indulged in as a kinky thing, but he enjoyed the feeling. 

“Yeah.” He pulled at where Sam was pinning his hand and took his other hand to push at his jeans like he wanted it off.

Sam gave him a kiss on his thigh that could almost be considered tender and he untangled himself from Dean. He sat back between the spread of his legs and worked the jeans off, tugging playfully just to pull him around, break up the tension. Dean was too in his head so Sam turned up his ‘Sammy’ game and played pretend affectionate. 

The jeans got tossed over his shoulder, and Sam paused to strip off his own shirt before settling on his stomach between those bowed legs. 

Like this, with Dean unable to hide in the blankets, it's more intimate. Sam’s gaze cut up to watch Dean's face as he lowered his mouth and the last thing he saw was Dean's lip caught between his teeth like he was already holding back the sounds. Sam spread him wide to admire where he was sore and swollen. He pressed a few kisses there just to test the waters before he gave him one big languid lick. 

Sam let it build slowly for Dean, following the queues from his body by the time he was thrusting his tongue deeper inside, Dean's knees were squeezing his shoulders so thought and the hand twisted in his hair was near painful. It was delicious how easy it was to bring Dean to this point. In the palm of his hand and thanking him for it with every moan of his name. 

Dean tried in vain to stay strong but he couldn’t. He gave in so much easier this time. No running from the pleasure or ignoring his feelings.

Just moaning and asking for more.

Lost in pleasure like this, Dean isn’t thinking at all about how broken his brother is. It’s just the way they’re together like this.

“Sam.” He encouraged,”Fuck, Sam.” He sounded like he was trying not to come.

“Let me.”

“Can you hold it?” Sam teased, biting the inside of his thigh. “Just a little longer, you taste so good.” He delved back in with renewed fervor just to watch Dean squirm. When he was sure he might actually hurt himself trying to hold it in, Sam pressed a final kiss to his hole. 

“Come, Dean.” 

Dean came so satisfyingly hard onto his own chest. And when he stopped trembling, his legs didn’t release Sam. He pushed his head down like he wanted a little more even if it made him tense and shiver.

He finally released him and used his shirt to clean up half heartedly before pawing at Sam to return the favor.

Sam tolerated the tables turning, even if it was harder to pretend when he wasn't blowing Dean's mind. He felt pleasure physically, but there was no emotional connection for him. When it was over, he showered and redressed despite it being quite late. 

No sleeping because he was soulless. Right. 

He sat at the little table and started cleaning their arsenal meticulously. 

“You want the light out?” He offered. 

“I’m good.” Dean sounded pretty wiped, and was very unused to having a bed to sleep in. He slept on his stomach with the blanket pulled up and the light didn’t bother him at all. 

They took care of the haunt the next day, finding that the wife kept his wedding ring. And it turns out that Dean isn’t in Sam’s way hunting. He may not be as efficient but he had his good sides. 

For one, he made stupid decisions made from emotion that logically Sam didn’t try to attempt. And when Dean made it work, it was a big win for them. Even Sam couldn’t argue with how helpful the human side of Dean could be.

Dean does talk to Crowley about fixing Sam but like Cas, the King of Hell has nothing to offer. And unlike Cas, was unwilling to help.

They had bigger problems brewing. There was a rogue knight of hell changing allegiances of Crowley’s minions and was beginning to feast on Hunters. 

Abaddon had her eye on Crowley’s throne and a world where demons feared nothing.

It appeared Crowley had ideas of how to deal with her but none that he shared up front. He did however give good intel on his rebel demons and the Winchester went after them to have them sent back to Hell for reconditioning.

Dean's warming to his condition, slowly. It was only a matter of time until he accepted that this was they way things were now. They don't make too many pit stops on the way, but Sam did drag Dean into the stalls at a rest stop for some messing around after he caught one too many lingering looks tossed his way when Dean was supposed to be driving. 

They rolled into town, and it was easy to pick out the demon signs. Followers of Abaddon weren't subtle like Crowley’s cronies. Completely by chance, they stumbled on the demons rounding up innocents to no doubt slaughter. 

Before Dean could even get his knife out, Sam raised a hand and all three of the demons started choking on their own black smoke. Sam didn't even look like he was straining. He pulled them from their vessels and all three of the victims were still breathing. 

He lowered his hand and looked to Dean. 

“What?” 

It makes Dean feel so off balance, he even leaned against a half wall.

“You—“ he pointed with the knife, to Sam, to the humans, back to Sam. 

“You said you couldn’t-“ he seemed rocked by it but mostly because he couldn’t imagine how dangerous it was to have Sam this powerful with no soul to show him what was right.

Not to mention what else he might be able to do.

Sam could probably see it all over his face— these powers were a deal breaker. The sex wasn’t going to make him ignore this.

There was a beat of confusion on Sam's face like he couldn't understand Dean's reaction. Now, being soulless he'd never agreed with himself more about his motivations. Yanking demons this way was faster and it saved the vessel. 

But he remembered all of the old arguments and his expression cleared a little. 

“I’ve always had them. I just never used them in front of you because I knew you would react like this.” Which was the truth. He was more willing to knife an innocent harboring a demon than disappoint his brother again. But not anymore. 

“It's fine Dean, I don't have to drink blood to maintain it or anything. It's just there.” No threat of going dark side. He was just being frustratingly logical. 

The old arguments still pour out of Dean, because he wasn’t logical, and it did bother him. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. 

Still, there was the threat of a Big Brother motivated to fix what Sam didn’t think was broken.

They didn’t talk much on the ride out to the next lead, and when they arrived, the demons were already gone. Abaddon must be onto them after just the one hit. They were regrouping already.

Dean found himself yearning for Cas without realizing it and his dream tonight was laying in the whitest, coolest, softest sheets. Sun pouring in the windows. 

Things were peaceful. Like the bliss the morning after a good one night stand. But instead of a hot girl naked in the sheets next to him it was Cas ridiculously in his full suit and trenchcoat.

“He’s using his powers again.” He told Cas. 

Cas didn't seem too surprised by that, but not comforted by the thought either. He sighed as he looked out the window. 

“I had my suspicions he might still have them.” A certain otherness about him even before he'd said yes to Lucifer. Azazel was a prince of hell, that blood would always be a part of him. “Is he drinking the blood of demons?” 

It was a concern considering Sam wouldn't feel guilt or remorse over it this time around. 

Dean had one hand in Cas’ open coat just to touch him. It lacked intent. “He says he’s not. And I haven’t noticed anything.” He sighed,”but I didn’t last time either.” Which is what scared him.

“You know, it’s not terrible, he exorcised them so easily, the people were more than good. But..” it begged the question,”If he can do that so easily, with no demon blood, what else can he do?” It was rhetorical. 

“We need to figure this soul business out, Cas.”

“No one in heaven knows how to pull a soul out of the cage. Not without opening it.” Cas didn't have to say what a monumentally bad idea that would be. He looked down at the hand on his chest and placed his own over it, just resting there with him. 

“I'll keep looking.” Giving up when Dean needed him wasn't an option even if he was exhausting all his leads. But if God or whoever left Sam's soul in the cage, Cas was beginning to wonder if it wasn't for a reason. 

“You’re a good friend, Cas.” Dean complimented him before leaning in and kissing him the first full, warm kiss in months.

In the real world, he smacked his lips a little and turned over. And shortly after he was awake and started getting ready to leave since he knew Sam hated sitting around too long.

Abaddon’s next move was sending her followers directly for them. And Sam’s powers had never been more helpful. It’s inevitable, Dean had to use the knife at times to save himself.

And Abaddon was smart enough when she finally appeared to them, to corner Dean away from his resourceful brother.

“Redhead’s. You’re always the psycho type, aren’t you?” Dean snarked, despite being backed against a wall.

“Psycho? I think you mean ambitious.” She pulled him towards her before slamming him back against the wall. Her telekinesis was stronger than Crowleys, when he pinned them down it was uncomfortable but when Abaddon's power gripped him it was unbearable. 

“Or maybe unbeatable?” Her head cocked, red curls bouncing. “And the first thing I'm going to do as queen is have you brought back to hell, Dean.” It was such a delicious threat, she could taste the aversion and fear. “I’ve heard you were quite promising with a knife in your hand. I could use a man like you.” Her hand ran up the midline of his body and she seized his jaw. 

“But first I have to get rid of your brother don't I? You know, when he dies he'll just go right in to the empty. Where everything without a soul goes.” 

Dean struggled and even though it was futile, it showed a willpower most men didn’t have. 

The only thing that saved him from her toying with him some more was an ally of Crowley’s. His red headed mother, Rowena. 

The Winchesters were unknowingly finding themselves in the middle of a power struggle in Hell. 

And Crowley already had the odds stacked against him, he didn’t need Abaddon getting the boys too. 

There had been a lot of things that were common knowledge that had been kept from Sam and Dean because even their own allies feared them, but Crowley needed them, so he was more than willing to provide them with more resources. In the form of introducing them to their unknown heritage and the history or Abaddon as he knew it.

There was worry about Sam and his dangerous mind having all of those resources and what kind of threat they would be to Crowley and anything that got in their way. But bigger problems and all that.

Before she’d gotten distracted by Crowley’s leadership, she’d been after the key to a secret bunker. Little did she know that It had ended up handed down in Sam and Dean’s family on John’s side. 

The age old slightly burnt from the fire box was tossed carelessly in the trunk of the Impala. It had been mixed in with Dad’s gear in his truck and Dean hadn’t known what it was for and tossed it in the trunk just incase.

Rowena drew an aquarian star and asked them if they’d ever seen something like that before in their Father’s possession, but Dean couldn’t recall right away.

The men of letters had things useful to everyone. Rowena included. Having these two solving this decades old problem would be groundbreaking.

They carried on and it was explained that it would be a key, unknown if it truly looked like a key or not but surely to have the men of letters mark on it because they so loved to brand things.

Dean was spacey but they switched to Henry Winchester and he perked up.

It all sort of came together for him then. He didn’t immediately speak up but he shared a look with Sam, and they took a moment to speak alone outside.

“What do you think? It all sounds pretty crazy.” Dean said, even as he popped the trunk and started looking for the box in the chaos.  
He produced it for his soulless brother willingly.

It all seemed a little too convenient. Crowley bringing all this information right to their feet out of the blue.

It all made sense though. Winchesters and Campbells. Brains and Brawn. The perfect recipe for world saving sons.

Sam had been quiet, calculating and attentive as they'd been given their lesson in family history. Gone were the days when he would've scoffed at working alongside demons and monsters. He just wanted to get shit done. 

“I think there's a lot of stuff we don't know about either of them.” John and Mary had been people with hopes and dreams and histories before they'd met and popped out Dean. And when Sam came along everything pretty much went to shit. It stood to reason they had missed out on some important bits. 

He dug through the box, recognizing things that Dean would be getting gooey and sentimental over, but to Sam it was just junk. He held his tongue, though and he produced a small box about the size of a playing card. He turned it to face Dean, the aquarian star inlaid on the cover of it. 

“I’d say that’s our answer.” 

“I don’t know if i’d call it an answer. Those two working together so well? I don’t like it.” Dean had enough feeling to be severely suspect of Rowena and Crowley.

“And that demon bitch has big plans, man. There’s something about this place they’re not telling us.” Dean put the box inside of his jacket.

He didn’t want to go back to Hell, he was afraid. So he would try to ignore the doom feeling.

The bunker was only step one for Crowley. Get the Winchester’s what Abaddon wanted(and hopefully deter her a little from going after him right away), while also providing more resources for the future, and then the truth on their only hope for defeating her for real.

Dean wasn’t going to like it, he knew that already. But Sam seemed different.

“Alright. I guess we’re doing this.” He told Sam with a sigh of dread as they went back in to get a location.

Rowena went with them and Dean sent Sam inside a gas station to pay to fill up and such. They weren’t too far from the suspected location.

“Alright. What are you getting out of this?” He asked her pointedly. “You don’t give a shit if Abaddon rules hell, it doesn’t affect you. You’re not even on her radar.”

Rowena was sitting prim in the back seat, even though she'd complained about the accommodations mildly. To be fair, she was stuffed in the back with both their bags and they both needed to do laundry. Her red curls were pulled half up, and her dress was slinky and dark. Pretty much what you'd expect from a classy, reagle witch. 

“Well I'm doin’ it outta the kindness of my own heart of course.” She started, playing offended Dean would even question her motives. Under his unimpressed gaze in the rearview, she scoffed and cut her lashes lower at him. 

“Having you two owe me a wee little favor doesn't hurt now does it?” Now they were getting somewhere. “Don't worry, I promise I'll be gentle.” She teased him, because Dean was too much fun not to rile up. It was like winding up a toy and watching it go in circles on the floor. She adored him. 

Dean had disliked witches for a lot less but there was something about Rowena. He tolerated her more than others considering here she sat, in his back seat. But he still didn’t trust her.

“Sounds lovely.” He answered in that rough rumble and watched Sam the whole time he fed the car gas and even as he rounded the vehicle.

“You want me to owe you a favor?” He sighed,”Fix my brother.” He knew she couldn’t, but it didn’t hurt to mention.

He was so obvious.

There wasn’t much talking on the way there. Sam usually tolerated entertaining Rowena better than Dean but without. Soul, small talk wasn’t really his forte.

The bunker is kind of an incredible place. Dean is impressed. 

Rowena doesn’t get what she was after, not now. But she also knew better than to ask right away. This was a lay in waiting sort of game. 

Dean looked at things in a surface sort of curiosity while Sam did his nerd robot thing. Which meant it was Sam who figured out the controls and the warding and filled Dean in on everything.

Abaddon was sure to be irritated when she found out and they still had no way to really kill her. 

Crowley knows they won’t be able to kill her, but he still watches them try everything. Ruby’s knife. Devil’s trap bullets. Decapitation, Sam’s powers.

Nothing works on her. There are a lot of close calls for Dean moreso than Super Soulless Sam.

And during one of the recovery periods for Dean, Crowley took the opportunity to put a bug in Sam’s ear.

“Moose.” He addressed him casually, and on the edge of disdain, but that was how he always spoke to Sam.

“I’d like to have a word without your moral handler, if i may.” He joked about Sam being under Dean’s thumb.

Sam had a book cracked open, but he left it cracked open after a glance around. Dean was probably in a narcotics induced sleep after being thrown around by Abaddon. Theoretically he should care that Crowley doesn't want Dean around for this conversation but really he can't be bothered to care. 

He got up and they found a more private place to chat. 

“What's so important.” Always straight to it now. Sam didn't like to him-haw around and discuss the past or even how boned they were in the current. Everyone knew it, there was no point in reminding them. 

In his time here, he had made a pretty damn good dent in their library, starting with the books on demons but so far nothing on how to kill a knight. It seemed the men of letters had never tried so they didn't have any say in the matter. Not sleeping helped him chug through the majority of it, but Sam doubted he would find the answer in these walls. 

Crowley stood with his hands in his coat pocket. “Well, i’m not sure how important you’ll find it.” He lied. “But there is one thing i know of that has been capable of killing a knight of hell.”

There was a but there.

“”You see, the first knight, he had the most power, trained the others, ambitious little Abaddon included.” He gave natural pause.

“And then he killed them all one by one until only Abaddon was left.” 

It was unclear why he spared her, but he had the power to kill her.

“There’s a catch.” Many catches, he supposed.

“Cain’s power comes from a cursed mark. It powers a blade- the first blade. Makes him quite thirsty for murder. He may be… difficult to appeal to.”

It sounded like Crowley might know what a man like Cain would want.

Something akin to interest, or hell even delight (without the joy) settled on Sam's face. It was kind of eerie, seeing him emote with his eyes still empty. Even demons were expressive, even if they were bitchy and snide. Sam had a personality it was just based in logic. And right now Crowley's information sounded like a solution. And an efficient one at that. 

“So we find him, tell him to finish the job.” He wasn't thinking big picture yet, but he would. Oh, he would. “How do we find him?” 

Dean would be all over this idea and how much it stank. He'd be pressing Crowley on why he held on to it so long, what the catch was, if this was the biblical Cain, the one who slayed his brother. But Sam didn't care about any of it. This sounded like a fix and he was ready to pursue it. 

Crowley didn’t bother telling Sam that the knights were notorious for disliking orders. They weren’t exactly in the hierarchy for that reason.

Half the fun was letting the boys figure some things out on their own, kept them sharp.

“He’s not hard to find.” The ones powerful enough to say leave me alone and back up the consequences always were. 

“Missouri. You may need Dean, he’s got a soft spot for brothers.” He fed that soulless part of him that would want to go now. Sam had the logic and skill but Dean’s humanity was necessary.

“Call me when you’re both ready.” And he was gone, keeping the exact location to himself.

It's disappointing hearing he needed to bring Dean in, but he understood Crowley's reasoning. He returned to his book and brought it into Dean's room which was right across the narrow hall from his own. He pulled up Dean's desk chair beside his bed and went back to reading while he waited for him to wake. 

Yes it was probably creepy, but it wouldn't be the first time. Since they'd gotten here, Sam had settled his things in his room, finding a place for his arsenal and tucking his clothes away but he hadn't so much as laid on his bed. Sam was a well oiled machine that just kept on ticking. Without his soul his emotions weren't there to tire him. His brain didn't need time to decompress. He just processed information, reacted to it and sorted it. 

Dean had a few scrapes and gashes and a dislocated finger Sam had put back into place. He was in decent enough shape to travel without giving him more recoup time. 

By Morning, Dean was up. He’d blinked a bit about Sam being bedside but he didn’t say anything. Just rubbed the sleep out of his eyes while Sam filled him in on Cain.

“What? Cain? Cain and Abel, Cain? And he’s powerful enough to kill Abaddon and we’re just gonna drop on his doorstep and what? Ask nicely?” He was reluctant about this.

But one mention about what other choice did they have and Dean pouted and grumbled through getting dressed and packing his things to go with Sam.

He knew Sam would go without him if he disagreed.

Dean figured they would be driving but Crowley whisked them away and He bitched about not liking the way it felt. It stung more than when Cas did it, that was for sure.

Unknowingly, this was Dean’s show to star in. It was his story that favored Cain’s. And it was his time to go dark to spare Sam. 

When they arrive, Cain wants nothing to do with them. It's a secluded cabin, no wardings no traps. Just a man and his apiary. He seemed somewhat annoyed by the King of Hell's presence (not that he recognized him as king of anything) and Crowley took note and kept to the wings of the conversation. His gift to Cain was standing here, he just needed to realize it. 

“It changes you. Having the mark. It's hungry and it doesn't take no for an answer.” He told them. “But I'm done feeding it.” It had taken time, patience and near seclusion but he had himself under control. The mark didn't dictate his life anymore. Which also meant he wasn't willing to lift a finger to help them. 

Sam was frowning but his gaze was still calculated. Cain didn't scare him in the way he did Crowley and Dean (just being near him you could feel the power and the oldness to him) 

“But it's a curse right? Couldn't you just pass it on to someone new?” Crowley was probably jumping with glee that Sam had finally made the leap, and all on his own with no further pushing. 

Cain grew quiet, somber, his crystal blue eyes shifting from Sam to Dean. He seemed to take him in for a long minute before shaking his head and going back to unpacking his groceries. A move that was jarringly domestic considering who they were talking to. 

“No. I will not.” 

It's not the answer Sam wants to hear. He was getting real sick of people and their emotions getting in the way of getting things done. 

“Why? I don't care what the mark does. Killing is part of the job.” So rational, so grounded in facts. The mark would reject Sam. But more than that, Dean was getting a glimpse of a Sam who didn't care about repercussions. He had no conscience, being given something that made him need to kill was a recipe to turn him into something worse than anything they'd fought before. Even Lucifer had emotions, even if they were mostly selfishness and rage, they had still governed him and made him short sighted. 

“I'll take it.” He urged. 

Again, Cain's gaze lingered on Dean as if he were wondering if he was really going to let his brother give himself over so willingly to the dark. 

The answer was no. Dean turned and seized Sam’s jacket arm in his hurt fist. “What are you doing?” He questioned him, quiet and angry. “This is not what we talked about.”

Just another big brother trying to save his little.

Before Cain could render an answer, Abaddon’s cronies showed up. Despite Sam being able to exorcise them and being all around better, Dean still watched his left and worried about him as they fought, the demons that were present not lifting a finger to help. 

They get separated and Dean killed a group on his own, which was impressive.

He stepped forward to Cain in the aftermath,”we need help.” He told the old knight. “I’ve been to a future where i have that mark on my arm.” He boldly told Cain, even if he hated talking about it. “Lucifer had you give it to me after he won my brother.”

And he thought he avoided this future when Sam bested the Devil, but here they were.

“Abaddon is your responsibility. So help us kill her, or give me the mark so i can do it.”

There was a look to his eyes that was almost kinship. Like he was looking at himself only younger. Stupider. Ready to make the same mistakes. 

“I just had to make sure you were ready.” He said knowingly. “I can give you the mark if it’s what you truly want Dean, but it comes with a great cost.” Cain found himself oddly unprepared for what this felt like. He had never considered passing on the mark but if it had to be anyone, it would be the one standing before him. Believing in something as insubstantial as fate wasn't something he subscribed to but this whole moment had a predetermined feeling to it. 

He held out his hand, calm in the face of Dean's apprehension. Sam was over his shoulder, watching with those calculating eyes. What did this mean for them that Dean was the one taking it? Would he be strong enough to take her out? Sam had his doubts, but he also could see now that this was what Crowley meant. Cain would never give the mark over to someone who wouldn't feel remorse over the things they'd done with it. How else were you supposed to make a knight out of them?

The transfer is painful for them both, Cain's grip was borderline shattering where he held Dean and then it was just the low purr beneath the skin. The mark was happy for a new home, for younger blood, someone so close to death every day. And with it too came the slow ebb of power that would only grow as Dean fed the mark what it wanted. 

“Good luck Dean.” Cain vanished with the air of someone who didn't intend on coming back. 

Now they just needed to find the other half of the solution, which they had all been disappointed to find wasn't in Cain's possession: The first blade. 

For Dean, the mark burned and ached, the feeling creeping up his arm and into the rest of him, but he didn’t complain. He just acted like what he’d just done was routine and they left the area to figure out Cain’s hint.

“He said he threw it in the deepest part of the ocean.” It was their brains, Sam who was left to tell him what that was known to be, and Crowley’s turn to go hunting for it. 

Dean shut himself up in his room for awhile, just looking at the mark and trying not to think about he’s seen himself become. 

He had Lucifer feeding the hungry thing before. Cain seemed pretty in control. He had to believe that he could do this. 

What he was underestimating was Sam’s thoughts on this, and how the Mark should be fed.


	4. The Death of Dean Winchester

Crowley was gone longer than they thought he would be and Dean had this anxious feeling that he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t coming from the Mark. It made him tense and restless and he was surely driving Sam crazy. 

Dean had short sleeves ln which was rare, so even though he wasn’t complaining, the mark must be sensitive still from the exchange only a day prior.

It was settling into it’s new home, slowly becoming a part of it in a way that would likely kill Dean. The mark was never intended to be hosted by a human body. 

Ever since the exchange, Sam had done as much research on the mark of Cain as he could find, but there wasn't much to be had. Nothing more than what Crowley had fed him. There had been some interesting stats on Cain's known abilities, though. He was strong and fast and deadly and everything Sam wanted out of a partner. Everything he wanted for Dean so he'd stop frustrating him. 

He's been caught looking at Dean more than a few times since he'd gotten the mark. Sometimes just studying him, other times the exposed mark on his arm. He's curious about it, and about what it will do to Dean. Like watching an experiment. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked today, and in a bold move his thumb brushed along the raised skin, feeling the heat thrumming beneath the surface. “You’re grimacing.” They hadn't done much hunting lately, he was wondering if it was hunger pains. 

“Great observation skills.” Dean grit a little, feeling like it was on fire after Sam touched it.

“Feels like a nasty burn.” All over his arm and up into his shoulder, spreading on his back.

Sam persisted and that arm seized him by his shirt. Dean crushed his lips to Sam’s redirecting the intensity he felt building inside to sex. He didn’t feel bloodthirsty, but he felt.. something. A yearning almost. He knew it had something to do with the blade being so far away and he wonders how Cain had stomached getting rid of it. Dean had never laid eyes on the thing but he wanted for it.

They were on a bit of a self induced house arrest. Abaddon was watching and waiting in the wings, and their star player wasn’t ready to step up to the plate quite yet.

Even Dean was feeling a little stir crazy.

He got out of his chair while their lips were locked and climbed up into Sam unashamed. He was used to being the one that was tossed around, he was smaller, it was easier.

And if he was being honest, he wanted Sam to feel when and if he took him for the first time. He wanted him to know that it meant something. And without his Soul, Dean was practically nothing to Sam but an asset.

Sam let out a hum that wasn't at all surprised, almost like he'd been poking around for this sort of reaction. He slipped his hands under Dean's shirt and pulled it off. Both of them had this intensity to them now, it would've been overwhelming to anyone else but for them it worked. 

His kisses along Dean's throat were the bruising sort and he didn't complain at all when Dean pulled his hair hard enough for him to see stars. They stumbled towards the bedroom, Sam taking out a stack of books on the way and he didn't even stop to lament the bent pages. 

No, he was too busy fighting against Dean. Because that’s what it felt like. Fighting. He half expected Dean to start throwing punches. 

Up until now, Dean had mostly just let Sam take. It was hard to want for much more especially with Sam exerting his intensity all over him.

But right now, Dean has some weight of his own to throw around.

He pushed his big lug of a brother down onto the bed and he practically ripped his jeans off of him once we was down.

By the time Sam had him back down on the twin that was creaking badly, Dean’s own jeans were tight around his thighs.

He bit his brother’s lip a little too hard when they started kissing again and he tasted copper.

Sam spared a thought that they would break this bed if they kept this up but there was no way either of them were stopping any time soon. He drug his teeth along his sore lip and it stained them red. They were both naked or close enough to it, but playing was just too much fun neither of them seemed willing to give it up. 

He surged up against Dean and pushed him back. Sam was on his knees over him, a glint to his eyes that was equal parts assessing and playful. Slowly a palm curved around Dean's throat, giving him just the taste of pressure along his trachea. 

“Sex won't feed it you know. It wants violence.” He clamped down and cut off his air when he opened his mouth to argue. Oh, Sam intended on feeding it any way he could. 

Dean can’t help but give Sam what he wants. Even Soulless he knows how to push Dean’s  
Buttons and piss him off.

His fist didn’t even cock back before it came into contact with Sam’s jaw. He’s not at full power, he’s not even at half, but he’s stronger than before. Stronger than Sam.

He may have thought it was a fun experiment, but Dean wasn’t going to be an equal. He was going to be something else entirely.

Big brother ended up on top, his hand on Sam’s throat this time. “Cut it out.” He growled, obviously upset that Sam was egging him on.

Sam's arms were spread out wide beside him, nearly hanging off the skinny single. He looked like he was relaxed, enjoying this almost. 

“Don't act like you don't want it.” His voice cut out a little as Dean's hand flexed around his throat and Sam's smirk widened. “Why keep starving it?” He licked his lips slowly. “You won't beat her with a semi.”

That got a dry laugh out of Sam, which he promptly choked on gladly. Pushing Dean's buttons was an olympic sport and Sam always brought home the gold. 

It’s infuriating for Dean. It really takes a turn from rough sex into pure violence until Dean had enough and got up and left Sam there.

He felt on the edge of too hot and Sam had no idea what he was poking at, especially with no one to take this violence out on but Sam.

Dean kept himself locked up until he felt okay, and when he came out into the main living quarters, he had nothing but hardened looks for Sam.

He knew what he was upto and he wasn’t happy about it.

Dean got a call from Crowley late that night and he turned the warding off to allow him to enter.

“I’ve found the blade, but the man who has it is out of my reach.” And that was where they came in. 

They get the best of him, get the blade but none of them, especially Dean could prepare for what it would feel like to curl his hand around it. 

The rush of power is so strong, the thirst for blood so blinding that he doesn’t realize he wants to kill until his hand is practically inside of the man ln the handle of the blade.

He stumbled back, surprised and trying hard to get ahold of himself. There was a ringing in his ears that was driving him crazy.

With a shaky hand, he wiped the blade off on a curtain and tucked it away, breathing heavily the whole way.

“Let’s get out of here,” he rasped, the strain so clear in his voice.

Watching Dean is mesmerizing. Sam wasn't exactly jealous, but something close to it. He admired the lack of hesitation in Dean and he wanted to feed that instinct until he forgot everything else. 

Crowley could probably see it all over Sam's face how much he liked this Dean. He wanted to keep him this way. 

They reversed they spell they’d used to get in to his magic lair and they were left standing beside the Impala, big ugly key marks down the side. A message from Abaddon in some ancient language. She knew Crowley was working with them, and she was coming for his head next. 

Sam watched him have his meltdown over the paint job, resisting the urge to tell him it was just a car. As long as it was running they would be fine. 

Instead he just turned to address Crowley but the king was already gone, leaving them in the middle of the woods. 

“At least they didn't go for the tires.” He sighed. 

“Really? You pick now to become Mr. Brightside? Just shut up.” Dean kicked some dirt before getting back in the car. 

He was ready to get rid of that crazy bitch. Immediately. But They hadn’t got a blip on their radar yet. Crowley was supposed to be keeping an eye out now that Dean had his weapon but he’s vanished pretty quickly.

They went back to the bunker, and Dean could say all he wanted that it was just a blade, but he kept it snug in his waistband even as he removed the paint on Baby and prepped her for a redo.

It felt comforting, loathe as he was to admit it, keeping the first blade close.

It was hungry, for sure, but mildly sated by the earlier kill and getting reacquainted with the connection between the blade.

When they got the call about Abaddon, Dean was overly quiet and brooding.

He goes into this fight not really knowing if he’ll be strong enough. Her followers go down wasy enough and he feels that blade practically singing for more.

Dean surprises himself when she pins him and he’s able to fight his way out of it.

She throws him and he stands back up. Abaddon stops him from moving and he approached her slow and steady, fighting through the urge to cement in place.

The red head was strong. Very strong. But whatever this Mark was doing to him, even human and not a demon like Cain, he was stronger.

Dean buried the first blade in her throat and then repeatedly in her stomach as the red blinding light filled the room. It was overkill, even when Sam was able to move again, he was still carving her up.

Sam watched him, vaguely aware when Crowley joined them once he knew the coast was clear. 

“Brava, darling.” He seemed pleased, deeply so by the turn of events. Things hardly ever so smoothly went their way even if Dean wouldn't look at it that way. 

Smattered in blood and gore, Sam didn't even flinch as he extended a hand to help Dean up off what was left. He didn't have to say it, he looked proud of Dean too. If Dean had thought the future was bad, the present was going to be much better. Nothing about Sam said he was afraid for Dean and what the mark was doing to him. Neither was Crowley. He had two devils on his shoulder wanting to see how far they could push Dean. 

“We should celebrate.” Sam wasn't into it but he could see the weight of this on Dean. He needed to decompress, even if it was just drinks back at the bunker. Oddly enough he'd been a bit of a homebody lately and Sam thought maybe it had to do with the mark wanting blood indiscriminately. 

Dean didn’t say much of anything, and it took a long time, even back at the bunk to be able to set the blade down.

When he did, it was with a shaky hand and it looked painful to walk away from it. He made the mistake of leaving Crowley alone with his brother.

“There’s one thing I forgot to mention, Moose.” Dean never would have agreed if he had. “This Mark.. it will never let Dean die. He’ll become A knight of hell. The knight of Hell.” He seemed so eager to see it. Dean Winchester, his knight. As if Dean would follow him simply because of their previous alliances.

It was only a matter of time. That’s too much power for a human body.

Dean showered and when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize who was looking back at him. Abaddon was dead. But at what cost?

The mirror was a casualty of Dean’s frustration.

He came out redressed and clean and he dropped the first aid kit loudly in front of Sam and held out his knuckles.

Sam had had his suspicions but hearing them confirmed by Crowley was a game changer. He was deep in thought when Dean came out but he didn't startle. One look at Dean's knuckles and he started cleaning and wrapping them with none of the gentleness he'd had in the past. 

“Mirror?” He confirmed, pulling a shard from one of Dean’s knuckles. “Might want to pick a wall next time.” Less painful, less messy. Sam glanced up at Dean, brows pulling together. Why was he having so much trouble with this? They won. 

“I'd take it from you if I could.” He surprised himself by saying it. It was the closest he'd come to showing concern about anything. Too bad the sentiment was misplaced. Likely reminding Dean why he made this choice in the first place. Sam wouldn't be having the crisis of conscience Dean was having right now. 

“I’m good.” Dean said after a long moment of looking at Sam. He couldn’t imagine seeing Sam deal with this much power. 

He started drinking cheap whiskey while Sam roughly cleaned up his hand and wrapped it for him.

“Just hard to control.” He admitted as he drank more. 

It sounded like they were going to have to start hunting more, to feed it.

“ if Bobby’s got any tips on nests we should check it out. Maybe i can exhaust this thing.”

“Sure, I'll give him a call.” Sam did as he was asked and by the next day they were on the road again but Crowley's words were in the back of Sam's mind like a burr. 

He hung back on the hunt, letting Dean get to have the thrill of tracking them, cornering them and chopping every last one of their heads off. It's messy and violent and everything he knows his brother needs right now. 

“Better?” He asked, not a drop of blood on him. Sam hadn't even drawn his machete. Dean was keyed up enough he knew nothing would slip by him. 

“Let's go out tonight. The bar in town looked good.” When Dean said no, as expected, Sam gave him just a little nudge. The gentlest press of his powers. “C'mon doesn't it sound like a good idea?” It's so subtle he doubts Dean even realizes it happens. 

Dean looked up at Sam and the influence settled in so easy.

“You know… it does sound like a good idea.” He agreed. Still human enough for it to work.

They got cleaned off and Dean went to the bar with him without another argument about it. He sat at the counter going for beers tonight, feeling good about how many vamp they’d (he’d) taken out of the equation today.

It felt good to use the mark for good. But it still scares him. The future it held for him.

A small town girl tried to strike conversation with Sam, long brown hair and soft eyes. The plain type of pretty with her petite frame and modest clothing.

She’s not exactly Dean’s type, then again he was sort of all over the map when he chased tail. Sam had seen him with every colour and body type under the sun if the attraction was there. He talked with her just enough to feel out if she was with a larger group, and satisfied she wasn't he turned on his charm. 

“Wouldn't you like to talk to my brother?” He didn't even try to be subtle with her, and he saw her interest change like a switch flipping. 

Bringing a girl back to the room wasn't something Dean had done in ages but it was time for a change. 

He made eyes at Dean over her head along with a facial shrug, showing he was okay with it if Dean was so inclined. She was cute and Dean was pent up. 

Dean was nice and neutral at first. But women were comforting. Probably some complex from Mom dying when he was so young. But he would never see it. 

She agrees to go somewhere no private and its the biggest mistake either of them could make.

Dean doesn’t even have the blade on him, he’d given it to Sam, but he still got overwhelmed and overtaken and he killed that poor girl with his barehands.

He’s shaken up after, badly. And became obsessed overnight with finding Cain. He needed help.

Cool methodical Sam took care of the body, tied up all the loose ends and he was back in time to catch Dean's freak out.

“Hey hey.” He took the bag from his hand and set it back down. “He told you it would be like this.” Sam tried to corral him away from the door but herding Dean was like herding actual cows. 

“Sit down.” He finally said, voice laced with coercion enough to be doubled. “Calm down.” It wouldn't work forever but it was a bandaid so he could at least talk some sense into him. 

Dean listened but when he looked up at Sam he had tears on his face. That poor girl didn’t deserve to die and he had been completely helpless to stop. He had marks on his arms and chest from her clawing for life. 

He felt so sick to his stomach. 

“There has to be a way to control it.” He argued. “I have to talk to him.”

“What good do you think it's going to do?” He asked honestly, cupping Dean's chin. Sam wiped his tears away because that level of raw emotion on display made him deeply uncomfortable. It could've been considered a tender move if you didn't ponder Sam's motives too deeply. 

“This is what it's going to be like. You just need to adjust.” Maybe not the right word, he saw Dean's expression break, threaten to tip over into anger. “We’ll figure something out.” He soothed instead, not letting on that he had it all figured out. Dean had to die, that was the only way he'd survive the mark. Sam needed to help him kill those pesky feelings. 

“Okay?”

Dean agreed because he had no other choice. But his emotions keep him up all night at the table with a bottle until he was asleep with his arm curled around it, face first on the table.

He was none the wiser of Sam’s plans. 

When he dreamt that night, it was laying on the hood of the impala under a dark starry night and he seemed unsurprised to see Cas.

“It’s been awhile.” He sighed,”i’ve done something terrible.”

“The mark of Cain has passed to you.” Apparently it’s passing had been big enough to be on Cas’ radar despite zero contact between them. “The angels have been talking about it. Dean, they're afraid of you.” 

Cain hadn't cared much one way or another for demons or angels he just wanted to be left alone but Dean. Dean had beef with both sides and now he could kill anything. It had sent them scrambling. 

“I hope your reason was just.” He seemed leery of believing anything could be, though. This mark was innate evil, which made it harder to stomach for Cas to see on Dean. In a whole slew of failures lately, to Cas this felt like the worst. Mayne if he had been there, he would've been able to find a better way. Nuf things in heaven were such a mess right now there were fights breaking out internally for power left and right. Everyone thought they were right. 

“I’m afraid of me.” Dean admitted, and man, that was hard. Especially for Dean.

“But Sam— he wanted it, man. And hell if he isn’t hard to make do the right thing now, I couldn’t imagine what he’d do with this thing.”

Dean seemed really tormented tonight. The dream thin and not created by a deep REM.

“I killed a girl, Cas. An innocent girl who just wanted to have a good night. And i fucking killed her.” He was whispering.

Out of all of the people and monsters Dean has killed in his life, some that deserved it, some that had been casualties in the fight, this one hurt the most. 

Because he hadn’t been hunting, he had no reason for it other than want and it was terrifying.

“And Sam— he just pushes and pushes. I feel like i'm standing on a cliff edge.” And there was no one trying to save him.

He knew he was going to lose this one. That he’s made a horrible mistake.

Cas could feel how intangable the dream was around them. Like Dean's brain was too taxed to do more than slap a few things together. The Impala remained unchanged, but the backdrop flitted through several different iterations. Sometimes they were just in nothingness, tethered to the car, other times it was plain scenery. Cas doubted Dean even noticed. 

He was vaguely aware when the dream grew gossamer thin, threatening to break their connection. A distant impression of Sam noises penetrating deep enough Dean almost woke. 

“Why would he push you?” He pondered this, quite disturbed to hear. Soulless didn't mean evil choices. It just meant that Sam thought there was something to be gained here greater than the loss of Dean's morality. 

“Maybe you should take a break from Sam for a while.” Cas hated to suggest it, Dean had been a wreck when he thought Sam was dead and gone. But this wasn’t idea either. Cas was worried and rightfully so. There was so much at stake here. 

“I can’t leave him, not like this.” Dean was able to articulate before the dream faded away, and Cas with it.

In Dean’s mind, this was his fault. The timing had been so awful. He still thought he pushed Sam to say yes.

Every day that he woke up, Dean was feeling more taxed with just living. But he never complained. It really felt like this Mark was burdening his body. 

It wouldn’t be able to go this way forever.

Dean ignored Sam in favor of coffee from the kitchen he’d fallen asleep in. Soulless Sam didn’t care if Dean fell asleep in uncomfortable positions.

“Got some demon signs in Alabama. Think maybe some of Abaddon's followers are still active.” Sam greeted, like Dean didn't look like death warmed over. “We should go check it out.” He wasn't good at sitting around. Not soulless. He gained nothing from it. 

Even if Dean didn't feel like hunting it would be a chance for Sam to stretch his legs. Yank a few demons. 

Dean sipped his coffee while pondering it.

Sitting around here wasn’t going to do him any good either.

“Yeah, okay.” He agreed easily, downing the rest of the cup and setting it in the sink.

Dean changed his clothes, the first blade tucked safely in his coat against his chest.

He drove with a mellow tape in and didn’t say a word as they passed through all the state lines.

The older Winchester even let Sam drive after he’d driven as far as he could. They made great time that way. Already Dean was easier for someone like Sam to work with. He wasn’t slowing him down.

When they made it into town, it was late evening. Sam knows his brother hasn’t eat much today and there's a little thrill of satisfaction when he turned down the burger joint they passed on their way in. Crowley was right, it was already happening all on it's own. Slowly but surely Dean was losing his humanity, whether he was being pushed or not. 

He pulled into the first motel lot they saw and he reached over and palmed the back of his neck. Dean's skin burns under his hand and Sam marveled a little at it, thumb stroking along the fine hairs. It was getting long, especially on top. 

“Are you hungry for something else?” The way he says it is so suggestive, but it was impossible to tell if he meant to go hunting, to kill something, or a romp in the sheets. Nothing about Sam's expression gave away which he had in mind. 

Dean let him touch. It felt nice. But he cycled through what he might want. Sex with Sam had left a bad taste in his mouth after last time. Getting started killing meant struggling to stop. The human will was so weak. 

He finally gave a sigh. 

“Demon’s don’t sleep. Let’s find these bastards before they hurt someone else.” He scrubbed a hand over his own hair.

He needed a haircut but he couldn’t be bothered.

Decidedly, not the answer Sam was looking for but he didn't complain. Never did at all any more. He either agreed or did what he wanted anyway. 

He backed out of the spot they'd idled in without even getting a room and he headed towards where the reports were. 

Both of them were more sensitive to demons now, even if it was for vastly different reasons. It only takes about an hour of canvassing for them to pick out the small group being rowdy in a bar. Yeah, they were Abaddon's alright. Little agents of chaos. Crowley's demons were preoccupied with numbers and deals and souls. 

These were little hellraisers. 

“You want ‘em or should I?” Sam was being magnanimous even giving Dean a choice. But the fact remained they were in a crowded bar and the way Sam did things, the suits survived if they weren't hurt to begin with. 

“I’ll draw them out. You do your thing.” Dean told him. He found it interesting that Sam kept asking him questions. Like he wanted to know what Dean was leaning towards. 

Sam frightened him about as much as the Mark did.

Dean played bait and got them outside and looking for a fight where Sam was waiting. He felt his pulse raise, his skin tighten.. and when Sam was done exorcizing them, Dean had the first blade in his hand but he hadn’t used it.

For Sam it's like flexing a muscle. He pulls the demons out, their smoke vanishing into the ground and singeing the pavement at their feet as they were forced back to hell. 

Two out of the five drop right there, long since dead from stab wounds or bullets. The other three were shaken badly and disoriented. Sam didn't have much bedside manner any more so he just told them in a stern, doubled voice: “Go home. Forget what happened.” 

And they did without even a glance at the two left behind. 

Sam eyed Dean, one brow cocked. “Not exactly the fight you were looking for.” His eyes dipped to the blade in a wanting sort of way. 

Dean looked a lot like he was realizing for the first time what Sam was truly capable of, here.

“Was i looking for one?” He asked back, mustering the strength to tuck the blade away, though it was getting harder and harder to do.

Dean did something that Sam probably never expected he would do. They drove by Bobby’s on the way to another job, and he had his father figure lock him in the panic room to keep him from hurting anyone else.

He was taking himself out of commission so Sam couldn’t influence him. 

Sam knows exactly why Dean does it, but it doesn’t matter. He would get what he wanted either way it was just a matter of out maneuvering him. They were playing a high stakes game of chess now. 

He let Dean sit and stew for a bit, and when he had his fill of sitting and waiting, Sam picked the lock on the door. The bunker was warded against everything conceivable thing except soulless brothers. 

“Get up.” He wasn't angry, just done playing by Dean's rules. If Dean refused to be out in the field, Sam would make him dance on puppet strings. “I found a job.” 

“Where’s Bobby?” Dean asked right away, and was helpless but to stand when Sam asked him to, absorbing the next words.

“I don’t want to hunt.” He said, something about his voice saying Dean was fighting the control.

The stronger he got, the less likely this was to work. Sam had seen it, he’s fought through Abaddon’s control. Sam’s was only a matter of time, when that human side was eaten up enough that there wasn’t enough for Sam to grasp onto.

Sam's jaw clenched and he planted himself in the doorway. Dean's will was strong, he could feel it flexing against his coercion but Sam wasn't going to back down. 

“Bobby's upstairs.” Fine was the implication there. Alive, because that was something to worry about with Sam how he was. He wouldn't feel a thing. “You're not sitting in here wallowing in self pity. Get your things.” 

Another order. If Dean was going to drag his feet this was just going to be life under Sam's thumb now. At least until he thought Dean was close enough to the edge to make the change. 

“I’m protecting people, Sam!” Dean growled even as he grabbed his things and shoved them in his bag.

“I’m protecting you.” From getting killed too? From doing evil? Who knew.

It worked enough to get Dean in the car and he said something he hopes Sam doesn’t remember when he has a soul,”I’ll never forgive you for this. For using that on me.” He told him like a petulant child as Sam made him passenger in his own car.

“I've used it on you more times than you remember.” Sam said simply, stating a fact. He would've never divulged that before, but here and now he didn't care how revolted Dean was at the thought. 

Sam pulled out of the drive and nosed towards the highway. The Impala had more gas in her than when she’d arrived and Sam's things were already in the back seat. This was planned, all of it. 

He drove for a while, offering to stop now and then but Dean was never hungry. Sam wanted to shake him, make him realize the change was already seeping in deeper but he let it go. By dawn Sam was still behind the wheel and he finally picked an exit to get off at. 

So far he had given a grand total of zero details on the case. The whole ride had been in petulant (on Dean's behalf) silence. Sam glanced at his phone for directions as he started branching away from the highway. They were in Nebraska or maybe even Iowa, this far removed from cities everything tended to look the same. 

Dean didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be trusted and he didn’t understand how Sam couldn’t see that.

He hasn’t killed in days. And he was trying too hard to keep it together to put up much fuss.

Beside Sam in the car, he was in a cool sweat, eyes a little unfocused while they tried to focus on the signs they were passing as Sam came off of the exit.

His brother drifted over at a slow speed and Dean popped the door to vomit blood out of the side.

He sat back, slumped against the seat, his lips and chin an ugly scarlet, green eyes looking at nothing in particular.

“What’s happening to me.” He rasped rhetorically.

He knew what was happening.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Sam glanced at him, one quick look up and down. The mark must be starving. Taking it's desired blood out of Dean as penance. 

Sam pulled into a long drive, surrounded by corn on either side of the wide dirt road. He took it easy so they didn't get bounced around too much, and as morning broke full and bright around them they pulled up on a house. Unkempt just like the fields were and it had that empty maw of a look to it that abandoned houses got. The sagging porch, the screen door flapping lazily. The windows were in tact, which meant no one came out this way. 

“C'mon. It's inside. Bring the blade.” 

“What is it?” Dean slurred a little, even as he dragged himself out of the Impala, blade in hand.

He’d been holding it in his jacket, trying to sate the Mark but it wouldn’t be happy without blood.

Dean still felt queasy but he was steeling himself and being stubborn, following after little brother.

“What could be here that i need that blade for?” He complained. “This is total ghost territory.” 

Sam didn't answer, but he did step up onto the porch, testing it mildly. The old boards creaked under his feet but didn't give way so he went to the door. It wasn't locked, and he held it open for Dean. Inside was musty and shut-in smelling but nothing sour or dead. 

It was immediately apparent to Dean's new senses that they were the only ones here. The first floor was empty save for a couch covered in a dusty sheet and two chairs at an old wood table in the dining room. Besides that, there were dust motes and the enduring silence that filled the walls. 

Sam pulled the screen porch door and latched it, leaving the front door open. Already it was hot and stuffy in the house which only added to it's unpleasantness. 

“You're the job.” He finally answered all of Dean's confused prodding. “We're here for you.” Sam pulled an angel blade from his coat, gaze steady. This wasn't a mercy, it was something else for Sam. 

Dean looked very unhappy, almost immediately. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Sam.” He had to know, that even if Dean fought him, he wouldn’t kill him, and even if the Mark took over, it would kill him in a whole different way. Knowing he did it, even against his will.

His stance was completely defensive.

“I’m not doing this with you.” He argued. But Sam came at him so seriously, it’s instinct to fight back.

The first time Dean gets the upper hand, he tries to turn the blade on himself and it visibly fought Dean until it flung out of his hands.

Which left him unarmed as they grappled.

Sam got him down and Dean’s hand shot out, the blade magnetizing to his hand and he pressed the tip to Sam’s ribs, the strain so clear on his face.

“Sam.” He grit. “Sam, you have to stop.”

He was trying so hard not to kill him.

He hadn't expected this fight to be easy, even with Dean as run down as he had been. The mark was alive and well at the taste of violence. Sam teetered on the edge of losing the upper hand as Dean's own determination faltered. 

“Stay still Dean.” He didn't order him to put the blade down, no, the mark wouldn't have that. But Sam wanted to live to see this outcome and the blade had already cut through his shirt layers and he could feel it against his skin, ready to part through his ribs. 

“Stay.” It was hard to control him like this, but Sam held on as tight as he could. The angel blade was between them, pointed down at Dean's chest but the grip he had on Sam's arm was keeping him at bay.

“Stay.” He felt the blade press more urgently for a second and Sam grit his teeth against the surge of Dean's will. His arm shook as he fought to lower the blade inch by inch. Finally, the tip rested at the hollow point of his chest and Sam bared down with everything he had to drive it home. 

He watched every second tick by that the life drained from Dean's eyes. Sam pulled the blade free, letting it leave trails of red on the floor as he crossed Dean's arms over his chest, first blade resting over his ruined heart. It would take time, he was sure. But he didn't mind waiting a little longer. 

Sam went around and opened the windows to let the breeze in, and eventually he picked Dean up and carried him to the table in the kitchen. Lain out like an offering. He sat in one of the chairs, feet up on the other and waited. 

Hours passed, the heat in the house swelled, became nearly unbearable before finally breaking as dusk settled in. In the quiet fields and wilds beyond, he heard wild dogs (or more likely coyotes) baying in the darkness.

Sam had stripped off his outer shirts, but he left Dean just the way he was. He didn't think he'd have to worry about the temperature any more. 

Crowley probably would've liked to have been here, but Sam had no intentions of summoning him. He talked too much and besides he wanted to see this new Dean on his own. To really see how much better he was without morals clouding his vision. 

Dean had muttered that he was sorry, over and over again as he died in Sam’s grasp. Sorry he couldn’t save him. Sorry that Sam might have to live with killing him if he ever got his soul back. Sorry for taking the Mark from Cain.

There was so much to feel sorry for. But when Dean opened his black eyes, there wasn’t anything he felt sorry for at all.


	5. The Misadventures of Demon!Dean and Soulless!Sam

When Dean awoke, there was nothing special that happened. He just looked at Sam, without feeling for the first time ever. Like he meant nothing to him with his soul twisted up so dark.

With no shaken hesitation, Dean put the blade in his jacket pocket.

“You try that shit again, it’ll be the last thing you do.” Dean threatened matter of fact and to the point.

Crowley probably knew it the moment Dean Winchester registered as a demon. And not just any demon. A Knight of Hell.

He wasn’t immune to the powers of the Mark but he was strong enough to withstand them.

This was Cain’s secret to surviving, but so much of Dean was dark. He didn’t much care for beekeeping, or grocery shopping.

It's a relief to see the absence of emotion. Being around someone as animated and emotional as Dean was taxing for Sam. He was always having to try and curb what came naturally just for his brother's comfort and to make sure he wasn't going to try and lock Sam up or worse fix him. Hopefully this was the remedy for that. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, hushed and guarded. The angel blade was a slick gleam tucked into his pants. It wouldn't do much more than annoy him but it was better than nothing. 

“How do i feel?”’Dean asked a little sarcastically. There was more emotion to Dean than Sam, but there was a generalized air of not caring.

“Annoyed that you’re asking.” He held his hand out,”Keys. This place fucking smells.” 

Dean drove until they found a decently lit up bar and he walked in without a word to Sam and sat down to start drinking.

In the car, Sam’s the one walking on eggshells for a change. He needs to learn this Dean before he makes any plans. Sam didn't like things to be unpredictable and right now Dean was the epitome of it. 

The bar at least is not too out of the ordinary for them. Sam dropped into the seat next to him and ordered a beer for show and sat not drinking beside Dean for a while. He watched some men playing pool but they didn't look the type to wager high so he didn't bother. The gaggle of girls at the dart board looked loaded (in more ways than one) but decidedly not the betting or competitive type. So he sat and waited for Dean to decide he was bored. It had to come eventually. 

Before it could, Crowley walked in looking desperately out of place in the podunk bar. He even had two chronies in equally sharp suits as his escorts. 

“Dean, so glad we didn't miss the welcome party.” He greeted, ridiculously pleased with the turn of events. The king invited himself to sit down on Dean's other side, and he ordered them both another round along with a brandy for himself. 

“King of Hell. You got your invite, i’m so pleased.” Dean’s voice had this deep, rough pleasantness to it that sounded so out of place. More naturally sarcastic than he ever managed human. When he was sarcastic then it was usually out of anger or annoyance but Dean held none of those feelings right now.

“Your dates look a little nervous. Did you tell them I bite? I thought that was our secret.”

Joking with Crowley? Maybe flirting with him? Dean really was corrupted.

He did drink what Crowley ordered him but he insisted on the next round, getting the demon a frilly sort of drink with a devil’s trident sticking out of it. He gave him a cheeky sort of wink and downed his whiskey straight before getting up to go play pool (not for money but for fun) trash talking to get the guys riled up for possibly a fight they wouldn’t win.

Demon Dean didn’t dream big on the scale like Sam may want him to. He was more of a casual chaos type.

They both watched him part, a space between them that emphasized their differences. Sam with his level gaze, eager to learn about this new beast and Crowley, the proud father. 

The king brought his drink with him to go encourage the trash talking with that dry lilt of his and sharp turn of wit. Almost too much for the road rough men to follow but they knew when they were being insulted whether they fully understood or not. 

And when the going got good and they were nice and mad, he encouraged with a fat wad of money on the table. Winner take all. Nothing made humans more stupid sinners than money. The men tried to cheat to win and when that didn't even work, their anger got the best of them. 

When the fight broke out, Crowley was sitting prim and pretty on a stool near the table, a courtside seat, legs crossed and sipping his cocktail. Dean was more fun than he'd anticipated. 

Dean let it last. The games and the fighting. Let them think they had a chance before slowly taking it from them. Which was likely the most infuriating part.

This dark blonde haired asshole with his careful smirk and the knowing looks he exchanged with his foreign friend.

There’s only one way for it to end, them on the floor along with anyone else who joined in and Dean having another beer at the bar.

Someone tried to ask him to leave, but it didn’t work and the bartender kept serving him. So there he sat, probably driving Sam crazy but he could do this all night. 

“Don’t you have managerial things to do?” Dean asked Crowley as he floated at his elbow. “Or are you waiting for me to ask you to dance?” He half joked.

“Please. You'll send a girl's heart aflutter.” Crowley rasped, so deeply pleased with how things were shaping up. Dean was an incredible hunter, and he'd thanked himself countless times for making sure the Winchesters were in his back pocket. But this was something else entirely. This wasn't frenemies, it was Dean joining up on his side. 

He could've giggled he was so happy. 

“Can’t I enjoy some time with my new favorite demon?” In a bold move, he tipped Dean's chin up with just one finger, letting their gazes catch. Dean wasn't just any demon, he would be Crowley’s right hand if things remained in his favor. 

Sam rolled his eyes, his taste for this dwindling by the moment. Dean had his fun, now it was time to get to get busy. 

“Am I getting a room for you and Crowley or are we splitting town?” He asked pointedly, ready to leave either way. 

Dean allowed Crowley to be bold but his gaze stayed readily playful and calculating.

“He’s bossy. Right? It’s not just me? Even soulless the kid knows how to bitch and moan.” He snarked, paying the tab with the money Crowley had produced earlier.

In a new move, Dean tossed Sam the keys, completely disinterested in driving.

“My pumpkin’s expired, king.” He told Crowley vaguely over his shoulder as he followed Sam out into the muggy air.

Sam counted it as a victory either way, and he led the way to the car, not paying the couple getting it on in the alley beside the bar any mind. Unless it was happening to him he cared very little about sex. 

He popped the door on the Impala open, realizing Dean was a few paces back. The sigh through his nose was probably more dramatic than needed but it had been a long night (and an even longer day before that) and he was ready to stop being around people for a while. 

“Come on.” He flexed his hold on Dean, testing mildly to see if it would even work now that he was full fledged. 

Inside, Crowley uttered one word: disappointing before vanishing from the packed bar. It scared the shit out of the patrons no doubt, some of them stumbling out the front doors loudly. 

Primarily just to fuck with Sam, he moved a little faster to come on. But it had no effect on Dean. Sam may feel it when Dean resisted it like a cat struggling in water but he didn’t feel anything without a fight.

He’d been enjoying staring at the couple.

“You got a game plan, party pooper?” He asked as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes he stole, lighting up in the Impala just because he wanted to.

Sam arched a brow but far be it from him to judge Dean. It wasn't like they could kill him, though his brain did supply the statistics for second hand smoke. He cracked a window and pulled out of the lot, glad to leave the bar behind. 

“Sure. Got a lead from some hunters requesting help.” That didn't sound like Sam's brand of hunting at all. “Feel like Demi God hunting?” Now that was more like it. Soulless Sam liked big game. 

Everything was about the big game for him. Smaller cases, even ones where innocents were dying or that were closer, he ignored in favor of the bigger leads. It pissed Dean off before, but now he suspected he could care less. 

“It's a bit of a drive.” 

There was an almost unnoticeable glint in Dean’s eye when Sam presented a challenging kill. But he didn’t answer with enthusiasm.

He just rolled his window down too so he could flick his ash and settled in comfortable.

“Great, i love to drive long distance.” He complained sarcastically.

Dean made it until about nightfall the next night. Sam stopped for gas and Dean went to a bar on foot like he didn’t care at all if Sam left him or not. He was so bored.

Coming out of the gas station to pump, Sam spotted him already down the block and he was half tempted to leave him as he seemed keen on. But something deep inside Sam made him want to stay with Dean. It shouldn't have been possible, considering his current state, but it didn't make it any less true. 

He filled the tank, eye on Dean's back until he rounded a corner out of sight. The town was only so big and Sam had one guess where he'd be. 

The rumble of the engine buzzed by Dean in the lot, and Sam pulled into a spot and got out. When Dean finally approached, he was leaning against the trunk, arms crossed. 

“What happened to God hunting?” He wanted to make good time, get his hands on the thing before someone else managed to. 

Dean looked like a teenager caught and embarrassed by their parents when Sam was waiting for him there. He even gave a dramatic eye roll.

“This is taking too long.” It was easy to forget that like Cain, and Crowley, Dean was likely powerful enough to transport himself at the speed of light.

But he could see Sam was serious about keeping moving. 

“One drink.”

It wasn’t just one drink but Dean only made him suffer an hour.

Even like this they stayed tethered to one another. Yoyoing back and forth reluctantly.

“This much travel cannot be worth one kill.” He complained more openly.

“Rnr after this.”

He was already thinking about vacation.

“You might change your tune after you feel what it's like.” Sam reminded quietly. Dean had yet to make a kill now that he was a hot blooded demon. Sam had a hunch it would be damn near euphoric. That's why he wanted something big and bad and powerful to be his first. Dean would hang on the line for a rush like that. He'd go where Sam pointed them if it meant getting to feed the beast premium cut. And how efficient a pair they'd be. 

He got back on the highway and kept north, until the sticky heat gave way to mild cool, and then even a slight chill as they went through border patrol. Sam was ready with their faked passports and a story about hunting big game which wasn't at all a lie. 

And just like that they were in Canadian wilderness, winding miles and miles through pine forest with mountains lingering in the distance. Sam had an itch under his skin, something akin to excitement but more like the satisfaction of a plan coming together. 

By lunch, they were outfitted in their hiking gear and following the gps pin to where the hunters had made camp. 

The forest isn't quiet by any stretch of the imagination but Sam enjoyed it for what it was: uncomplicated. All he needed to do was exist right now and that was bliss. Of course Dean was there, hot like a fly buzzing around his head. Annoyed that they weren't killing things, that they were so far from people until the moment he wasn't. 

He must’ve heard the twig snap a second before Sam because he went deadly silent to the point where Sam wasn't even sure he was a few paces back behind him anymore. Instead of risking a glance back, Sam too locked up as still as could be and just listened. 

Nothing. Long minutes of insects screaming and birds calling and nothing else. Sam took a deep breath in, making the decision to move once more when he heard it again. It was bigger this time, a heftier sound. The kind of branch you stepped over instead of on. Intentional. 

He hazzard a look over his shoulder, and even the shift of his clothes felt deafeningly loud. Sam didn't know when, but the wildlife had gone silent as could be and he was hyper aware of his breathing and even Dean's despite the space between them. 

As they waited, eyes scanning the trees, night started to descend around them despite Sam's watch reading three in the afternoon. It was like something was sucking all the light out of the sky and darkness gathered close around them. Sam wasn't afraid, though he would've been had he had his soul. No, instead he was transfixed. They hadn't seen anything like this before, he was almost sorry Dean was going to kill it. 

Almost. 

Before them, the sound of more heavy steps came. Trees parted their bows to emit something impossible. The shape was hard to grasp and even harder to look at. Sam knew instantly this creature was old, he doubted anything about it existed in the men of letters writings. 

He had taken the lead, walking with a carefully folded map and the gps, so the beast approached him, the arms at it's torso reaching out. It's face, if you could call it that, stood about two feet above Sam's, and above it rose what looked like a contorted body, all attached to elongated hoof-like legs. It was a horror Sam couldn't stop looking at. 

It spoke in a language neither of them understood but just the words made Sam nauseous. They had yet to find a magic or monster power that worked on him soulless, but this apparently was it. He wavered a little, fighting the urge to wretch and he took a step back, closer to Dean. 

For Dean, he can feel it’s energy and power before it’s even approached Sam. He stayed where he was, not out of fear or caution, but curiosity. 

His eyes cut to Sam when he stepped back. He’s left wondering what it must feel like for Sam. This thing didn’t seem to mind much that he was without a soul. It was affecting his human body regardless.

There was no heroic rescue, no signature cry of Sammy. Just Dean behind Sam one moment and behind the creature the next with the first blade in his hand. 

He didn’t bother drawing it’s attention or trying to stop it from fucking with Sam but he did dig the first blade into it’s underbelly, drawing back on it to slice it open as best he could.

Quiet, calm. No blood thirsty raging. Just Dean and his mark trying to savor a kill together.

It was perhaps a bit narrow minded to call this thing a demiGod. Sam’s intel had been a little lacking in that regard, a mistake he wasn't keen on making again if they survived this. 

The beast went down hard, kicking up dirt as it fell and so to did Sam. He crashed down on his shoulder looking dazed and he vomited straight blood as the beasts entrails spilled out in a steaming pile. It thrashed and kicked and emitted a dying wail that brought even the knight to his knees. Definitely not the immediate death the knife had brought to so many others. No, this one had fought it's culling pull. 

As the life drained from it, the darkness lifted around them and that oppressive sense of power dissipated. Sam sat up, dirt and grime caked on his cheek but he didn't seem too concerned. The body didn't shrivel, it didn't particulate, it didn't fade away. It was an enormous pile of strange leathery skin and sharp bones. 

Dean would've never let him do it, and with his soul he would've been too afraid to, but Sam reached out and touched it. He had to know it was a real, solid thing. The impulse was too strong to ignore so he didn't, fingers curling around one of it's branched antlers. He inhaled sharply and removed his hand, and the creature was gone. Like a trick of the eye, it was some mossy logs and foliage that looked like it had been growing there for years. 

“Guess you can add God-killer to your resume.” He looked to Dean, brushing the blood and dirt of his face and leaving a worse mess behind. Sam sounded so calm, so unaffected by it all. 

Dean was standing by the time Sam was done marveling. Something seemed calmer in Dean. Sated. But he still remained generally unimpressed with life.

“Hooray. I’m so thrilled.” Dean gave him a tight smile that accentuated his crows feet. “Come on lurch, you need a bath.” He started walking away without him, knowing he would catch up.

Dean showered first at the hotel they eventually found despite Sam being filthier. And when   
Sam came out of the bathroom it was to Dean pushing him up against the wall.

They stared for a few long moments, both relatively stoic and unmoving before Dean kissed him with intent to play.

Sam had been wondering if Dean was done with this now that he was other but the timing made sense. He may not have acted like it was any big deal but killing after so long and something so strong must've been quite a rush. 

He let him come, but not without a fight. Hands pushing and pulling, nails catching skin. Sam bit against Dean's kiss and he got it back ten fold. When he pulled back they both tasted copper. 

His back met another wall forcefully and Sam knew they were inching towards the bed but Dean was enjoying the trip. He felt a bit like a meal thrown into a lion's den, but it wasn't a bad sort of feeling.

Dean was a dangerous sort to egg on. He really didn’t need any prodding so when Sam did it, the knight really came at him.

Sam was right. Dean didn’t feel the urge or need to show how good he felt. But having some great sex sounded like everything he wanted after a violent release. And he had such good memories of sex with Sam.

There was no rush for Dean. He really liked that Sam pushed back at him. It made things interesting.

Sam tried to get off the wall and a hand snapped onto his throat. Cutting the air off right away just to get a reaction. He seemed addicted to that.

Dean only let go when he got light and that big lug got puppetted to a bed where Dean looked down at him, pleased he chose post shower to make his move. Sam was nice and naked and miles of tan skin.

He leaned up over him to kiss and bite along his likely sore feeling neck rough but also like he was appreciative.

There was no denying that he liked Sam. His body, especially. But dying the way he had, being darkened so thoroughly, the love had been so shrouded. Buried under the need to kill and a self hatred so strong he personified it as a general displeasure with life.

What remained very Dean of him was his insistence that everything was just fine and that he was as happy as a clam with the way things were.

He wasn’t lying about it though. It sucked being tied to the Mark. Even as a demon he hated feeling like it had control over him.

But not feeling all of the crushing guilt from the people he's hurt over the years—- it was worth it. He didn’t want to feel that way again. He had no desire to become human again.

Sam seemed out of his comfort zone, not being in control. He was like that about a lot of things sans soul. It was a little harder to give up the reins even with Dean overpowering him in every way. His hands had grappled the forearm squeezing his neck to no avail and when he was dropped on the bed Sam was immediately sitting up. 

He was naked, hair still curling against his neck from his shower but Dean wasn't. Sam snagged him by his belt loop and drug him closer so his fingers could get them open. If there was one thing to be said, Sam wasn't going take this lying down. Or if he did, it would be Dean who held him there. 

Dean let Sam pull him and it was evident in the weight of Dean that it was an allowance. He was plenty strong enough to resist.

He let Sam help him out of his jeans (more like tear them off of him), and then it was a fight for dominance that landed them on the floor. 

Dean wasn’t fully exerting his force because that wasn’t fun, but he is aggressive about the way he pinned Sam when he had enough of the you push me i push you.

The demon got his fingers inside of Sam but it was such a fight to keep him bracketed onto the carpet without hurting him. And breaking a bone probably would end the fun.

And Dean didn’t want to do that.

“I’ve got you.” Dean teased him. “Submit.”

There's bared teeth and a heavy exhale but Sam knew if he didn’t listen Dean would hurt him and he wouldn't even feel bad. He relaxed tentatively, rolling his shoulders a little. He was face down on the carpet, hands braced like he was going to push up any minute but Dean had him pinned too good. 

His body was unused to penetration in any form, not since he was a curious teen had he let anyone get him this way. The fantasy had been to lose it to Dean, granted that was when he was fifteen and stupid and he hadn't ever gotten the urge to act on anything he was feeling. Instead he'd checked off that box with someone else and had moved on with his life. 

This Sam here and now didn't hold any of those lingering desires or fantasies. No, he just knew they were doing it this way or not at all. Dean seemed of one mind entirely and he was inclined to go with it after feeling the hold on him. He'd be no good for anything if Dean broke him. 

Dean seemed to enjoy the way it felt. Sam’s tentative sort of submission. Much more than he would a true one. Total submission upon asking was never fun. But Sam knew Dean had the upperhand and he was giving in enough to let Dean.

He wasn’t exactly gentle but he wasn’t out to ruin Sam too much. Enough to not want to run after more gods right away, but not enough to keep him in bed.

When he wanted in, he did spare a moment to get the lube, even if he had to wrestle Sam back down again. And Dean took him on the carpet. 

It wasn’t quick or merciful. Dean was rough and demanding, but he wanted to feel pleasure and he wanted to have fun and he wanted Sam to so the same; so it wasn’t cruel. He didn’t give Sam more than he could handle but he got close a few times, too strong for his own good.

Sans soul, Sam was getting something very different from this than Dean was. The demon was reveling in the pleasure and fun of it, drowning in sin. But to Sam it was means to an end. The rush of endorphins were beneficial and the physical release of it helped keep him from being too tense. He could feel pleasure, but that was different than enjoying himself. Just like the difference between feeling pain and being afraid of it. 

Dean pushes hard enough more than a few times that Sam isn't sure if he's cursing in pleasure or pain, it was just running from his mouth. He was sure he was going to look like a trainwreck after this but he didn't want Dean stop. This was exactly the kind of release he'd been goading out of him for weeks. The kind Dean had been running from. 

When he did finally come, pushed over the edge by Dean's rough thrusts and that low chuckle in his ear, Sam was rightfully tired. He didn't sleep, but after he cleaned up he sat himself down and actually watched a few cycles of news. It was the most subdued he'd been since their reuniting. He was always cleaning their weapons or making munitions or researching leads. But not tonight. 

Dark eyed and quiet, Sam looked over at Dean when he'd finally emerged from the bathroom. 

“You're better this way.”

Dean smirked over at him where he was dressing beside the bed. “Thanks Kid.” He rasped, but his tone was total agreement. He thought he was better this way too. There was no guilt there. No hidden desires to be human again. Just a happy little demon at his soulless Sam’s side. 

When Sam was ready to leave, Dean drove. Neither one of them slept so hotels were more homebases between travels.  
They headed west a little aimlessly until Dean found a little place to raise hell in.

Then it was Dean and unsurprisingly, Crowley with soulless Sam the third wheel in bars. 

Dean messed around with the king of hell because he seemed to want it and the knight was at a loss as to what to do with the attention he kept giving him.

He seemed pleased as punch by Dean’s attention but he had a feeling it wasn’t exactly what he was after. Decidedly, he didn’t care enough to ask.

The knight zipped up his jeans and went back to his brother’s side at the bar. Dean stood behind him, hands curled around his waist as he tugged his ear with his teeth. 

“Find anything?” He rumbled low against his ear, finally ready to go killing after several days of this party phase.

In their time apart (Sam hadn't much cared at all that Dean had excused himself to romp with Crowley though he did have some dry jokes to crack) Sam had done some chatting with the demon lackeys brought along by the demon king. 

He'd learned some interesting bits of information. Things that made him think about the future and having the monopoly on power. But it would take planning and for tonight he knew Dean wanted something quick and fun. 

“Found a whole commune of wolves.” It didn't matter to Sam that they stuck to animal hearts and had full bred children among them. And he suspected Dean wouldn't either. He got to live out the demon daydream of pillaging a whole town. “You up for it?” 

“Mm.” Dean propped his chin on Sam’s shoulder, letting him show him the gps. It would be intimate if it wasn’t them.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll bite.” He nipped Sam before getting out of his airspace. One more drink and Dean let them leave, relinquishing the keys to Sam.

They drove through what little remained of the night and most of the day. By the time they reached the far removed compound where the pack lived, night was falling. Sam was still driving, and he parked at the mouth of a dirt road. If they wanted the best approach, the rest of the way was on foot. 

He checked his gun, one in the chamber waiting and a full clip and he grabbed a few more. It was just for insurance incase they got seperated. He didn't actually think he'd kill that many. No, this was about feeding the beast currently looking ready to vanish into the night and leave him behind. 

“Go, I'll catch up.” He urged, a bit like letting a dog off a leash. 

Dean wasn’t as powerful as Cain, not yet, but he had some tricks up his powerful sleeve.

“Well, that’s no fun.” He rasped. The older brother dropped a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder and he ported them both closer. 

But once there, he didn’t stick close. Nor did he creep around. He wasn’t looking to hide too much. He was in a bedroom before the first house of wolves could even sense something was wrong but from there it was chaos for them both. 

Killing the god had been a rush, but this—- running and slashing and drinking in all of the fear had Dean so worked into a blood lust that when it was over, he was panting despite not needing air, covered in gore and looking fit to bathe in it. 

His expression although still with the edge of sternness was all pleasure.

Sam had picked clean anything Dean had missed or those who had grown wise and tried to flee. He was satisfied, even more so seeing how drunk on the rush Dean seemed to be. It went in the mental notes with the rest of what he'd learned about this new Dean. He preferred this kind of carnage to big game hunts. They differed in that regard, but Sam was adjustable. 

He tucked his gun, muzzle still warm down the back of his jeans and took in Dean. A smirk curved on his lips, and he wondered distantly how long it would be until hunts weren't enough. How long til Dean started culling the herd that was humanity?

“You wanna drive?” He held up the keys. Dean didn't look like he was ready to settle yet. If they didn't go straight for a room to go a round in the sheets he would bet money they'd end up in a bar instead. Or maybe just find something else to kill. He could see Dean being the binge killer type. 

Dean didn’t bother finding a room. There were plenty of empty houses around them. Dead bodies be damned. 

There was aggression, maybe more so, but Dean didn’t fight to take Sam this time. He was pleased with him for the wolfie gift and he allowed Sam to use his sturdy body to get out any pent up tension he may still have left in him. 

They cleaned up there before leaving again and Dean did drive, chain smoking cigarettes for the enjoyment of the repetitive motion. 

The brothers hadn’t been back to the bunker since before Dean’s fall but he wasn’t antsy to go back.

They fell into a routine of bars and rough sex and big satisfying hunts. It works for awhile but when it doesn’t work it’s a very volatile situation.

When Dean lingers too long off the road Sam gets upset and Dean doesn’t always fall in line. They were sometime incompatible and still unwilling to part. 

It almost always came to blows, but Dean usually wasn’t too hard on Sam and his human body. But he fell into a particular sort of unwillingness during the winter. 

He found a lively bar he liked a lot that had karaoke and a rowdy crowd who still accepted him when fights broke out, and he just wanted to stay for awhile and enjoy it. 

Weeks they’d been here, Sam was likely going crazy.

And when it went to blows, it went bad.

Sam with a busted face and a broken arm kind of bad.

If there was one thing that was true, Sam bit off more than he could chew with Dean. He was much more powerful than he usually personified. Dangerous. And way out of Sam’s reach.

They went back to the bunker after that, to regroup and refresh their supplies and Dean was pleasantly surprised to see Rowena there. She was fun for banter, and banter was still something he enjoyed, even as a demon.

And when she chose to ask about a certain dark magic book, Dean handed it right over like he wanted to see her put some use to it.

“Here you go red.” He dropped the book in front of her with one hand, and bounced one of her curls with the other. “This the book you wanted?”

Rowena had heard of Dean's affliction through the grapevine (no, quite literally divination through wine) but seeing it was something else. She kept wanting to pinch him and herself to see if they were real. It was just too good to be true. 

As a test, she made herself comfortable in their little man cave, ignoring Sam's grumbles as he slunk off to do research. His face looked like it had been through the ringer and his arm was immobilized to his chest in a cast. Nasty work, that. 

One little mention of a wee spellbook she was searching for and their resident bad boy (now in all the ways that mattered) handed it right over. She contained her excitement but it was a near thing. 

“My, and what price does this come with for me? Hm?” She lowered her lashes at him, so sure it couldn't be this easy. There wasn't such a thing when it came to the Winchesters. 

Lucky for Rowena, these weren’t the same Winchesters. Dean gave fuck-all about favors and trade. 

He gave her a wink,”Raise a little Hell. It’ll drive Crowley crazy.” And tipped his beer back. 

“While you’re here… you got any witches you’d like gone?” Dean had a hunger for witch blood but Sam hadn’t found a decent lead. 

Rowena was labeled as useful, stil. Or she’d likely have the blade in her belly.

The guarded surprise melted quickly into something more sinister as Rowena grinned. 

“I do, actually.” She seemed pleased he would even offer. “They're quite powerful…” Her hand reached out, brushing down his arm where his sleeve was cuffed to show the mark. Her deep burgundy nails ghosted over it as their eyes met. 

“Shouldn't be much trouble for one such as yourself, though.” 

There was definitely some flirting going on. Rowena wasn't even trying to be subtle like she normally was. 

Dean didn’t seem surprised or shy away from her attention. “No, i don’t expect trouble.” He agreed in that flat sarcasm he was becoming known for. 

His hands curved around her small waist to ease her petite frame up onto the table. The pesky floor length dress was very much in the way, but Dean just rucked it up and put his head under it when she was ready for him.

It’s not exactly the Dean Winchester treatment it would’ve been pre death, but the knight is thorough and when she allowed him to take her it was rough and satisfying.

Sex with Rowena on the dining room table. If Sam had a soul he’d be furious. He showed her to an area she could clean up and stay the night if she chose (the offer wasn’t there but it was implied). 

Dean knew she’d likely take the book and run before they changed their minds.

He went down to the armory and got lost looking at things to waste time and when he grew bored of that he went to find Sam. 

Dean held up a piece of paper with Rowena’s elegant script on it.

“Wanna go on a witch hunt?”

The room Sam had holed himself up in was a mess. The summoning ingredients shelf was picked over and the table was covered in open bottles and jars. There was also something very dead which looked like a rabbit though most of it's skin was peeled back. 

Sam was sitting, flexing his bare arm, chunks of plaster and the open shell of the cast also adding to the mess on the table. Apparently this Sam wasn't opposed to dabbling in a little witch's cure. Especially if it meant he wasn't going to be laid up, hunting. 

“You have a list?” He seemed confused by that, but after he saw the writing he knew. Sam didn't like doing other's bidding and his distaste wasn't hard to spot as he looked over the names. “You want to do something for Rowena?” 

Dean’s brow arched, his hands coming out of his pockets to cross over his chest casually. “I’m not doing it for her.” There was a heavy eye roll there. Dean had already told Sam he wanted witches next.

“We’re low on witches blood anyway, since when do you care what we hunt so long as i agree to go, huh? Shouldn’t you be happy?” He asked,”Oh, right, you have no soul.” He knew it didn’t bother Sam but Dean still got on him for it.  
“Did it work?” He gestured. “Should’ve asked Rowena.” He tsked, as if Sam knew she was here.

“It worked enough.” He balled his hand into a fist a few times, the muscles in his forearm jumping out. Sam wasn't satisfied by Dean's reasoning but he didn't bother with voicing it. The demon was prone to rages or leaving him behind out of spite. So he let it go and started cleaning up the parts of his mess that were bound to spoil. 

He could feel Dean's desire to burn out of here and leave it all to rot but Sam was too efficient for that. 

“Go make sure we have witch killing bullets.” Anything to keep him busy a few moments longer. 

“No.” Dean said very plainly. Just to be a dick, probably. He didn’t stick around to explain himself. But he had a knife that killed pretty much anything in the back of his pants. Sam was the one who needed witch killing bullets.

And they hadn’t exactly been getting along since Dean broke his arm and left him to fend for himself. 

It was a harsh reminder that it went both ways. Dean didn’t give a shit what happened to Sam anymore than Sam cared what happened to him. This bond they had— it was the antithesis of the one they shared before.

They wouldn’t do anything for eachother, they would do nothing.

Sam chose to leave the majority of the mess in favor of making sure his investment didn't go off and leave him for real. Dean was better like this, there was no arguing that. A faster, stronger, more deadly hunter and none of the remorse. But he came with new challenges and a lot of red tape. 

It was becoming tiresome to handle his fickle moods and keep him on task. He was a champion horse who didn't want to be steered. Sam turned over his thoughts as they settled in the car, Dean behind the wheel. More and more his play for the crown sounded like something that would occupy Dean and feed his many appetites. At least for a time. 

“Crowley's been really hammering in the whole ‘hell's knight thing lately’.” Sam spoke up, having to turn the radio down so he could hear his own voice. He wasn't wrong, last time they got wild in a bar together Crowley had been talking big game about Dean being at his side down in hell. “It's like he thinks you're a dog to train.” 

Slightly less true, considering the hearts and stars in Crowley's eyes whenever he talked about it. Sam was more like a quartermaster than Crowley had ever been. But the fact remained the King did want Dean to be his knight. In the exclusive kind of way. 

Manipulation was the name of the game and Sam was the master of the chessboard here. 

The way Dean eyed Sam said he was suspicious of him. Mainly because as far as Dean knew, Sam didn’t have feelings. It was all logic in that husk of his. 

So what did he have to gain by trying to steer him this direction? It was impossible to be out of jealousy. But Dean could see a sort of logic jealousy. Not wanting to lose an asset like Dean so he was twisting things on Crowley.

“Is that how it sounds?” Dean asked carefully. “I don’t really listen.” Which was true. He just nodded along and drank and fed the sparkly eyed part of the King. He was so easily distracted by it. 

Dean didn’t elaborate any further. It was bothersome. Crowley’s want to have him as a pet. Being his lover didn’t bother him. Dean liked the sex and surprisingly, the affection. But he would never be what he wanted. The type to kill where someone pointed. He could be nudged, guided, etc. offered enticing challenges. But that was all.

“I like this.” He gestured between them, but didn’t explain. Just turned the shitty radio back up and kept driving.

He liked the fighting, almost as much as the killing. Sam didn’t have to worry about that. Crowley’s ambitions— they wouldn’t be able to feed him the way Sam did.

They rolled into town on the first witch call, and stumbled into her sooner than anticipated. Dean did the first thing that came to his mind. And that was to rip her tongue out before she could utter any sort of incantation that may be able to harm Sam or god forbid, Dean.

He’s disappointed, almost. That she hadn’t been a bigger hunt. And he’s glad theres more names on Rowena’s list.

Dean held her up to Sam, blood pouring from her mouth so heavily she was choking on it. “Come on, Sammy. Get your hands dirty.” He tightened his grip on her arms behind her back, presenting the cage of her body to Sam.

Whatever comfort or placation Dean was going for was lost on Sam. He didn't know Dean thought he was jealous because the thought of it hadn't occurred to him. If it had, he might've used it to his benefit. 

He followed Dean's lead, taking the backseat on this ride because he had little interest in picking off women with hobbies. Which is why it was a surprise to have her thrust at him in welcome invitation. Dean didn't like to share very often, and he didn't want to spit in his face. 

He grabbed her by the jaw, hand smearing in her blood. The container they used was thrust against her lips until it was full. There was a shiver that went through Dean and the witch that gave Sam pause. His expression wasn't one he recognized on this new Dean, it almost looked confused or leery. 

A second later he heard the settling of wings and he knew Castiel had joined them. The angel knew what had been going on in his absence but he also knew that without Sam there was no saving Dean. He couldn't come back empty handed. 

“Sam.” The same gravelly voice and piercing blue eyes though now they held the weight of sadness seeing the two of them fallen so by the wayside. “I found it. Someone who can return your soul.” 

The hunter had kept his back to Cas, but just the words made him flinch badly. For the first time Dean got to see something flicker on that usually stone face. Not quite fear, but a mixture of dislike and anger. Between them, his bloodied fingers were already drawing the banishing sigil right on the poor witch's skin. 

“You have to come with me.” Cas impoored. He couldn't even look at Dean in his current state. 

Dean’s eyes were sharp, excited in a calm sort of way. “Castiel.” He tilted his head to see around Sam, smile tight and unpleasant to see on his face.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” He licked his lips, subtly eyeing Sam drawing the sigil. “Are we not friends anymore?” His voice was almost mocking. 

His smile let up a little. Sam was close to ruining his fun, even as he pushed the first blade into her spine.

Dean stopped supporting her weight which left Sam to catch her to use his sigil and gave Dean a window to nearly get his hands on the angel, first blade drawn like he’d fully intended on killing him. 

There was a tension in his shoulders when the opportunity was taken from him.

“Aw, Sammy’s afraid of a little angel.” He teased him because he could, facial shrugging at the spot Cas had occupied. “He’ll be back, you know.”

“I'll be ready for him then.” Sam sounded sure of that which meant there was an angel blade in Cas’ future. He wiped his fingers off on the dead girl's shirt and stood. 

“Unless you're feeling charitable. Want to hunt an angel for me?” Dean's interest hadn't gone unnoticed. In fact, he remembered Dean telling him about a future wherein the knight couldn't get enough of torturing the little cherub. 

If they didn't do something soon, they wouldn't be able to continue on this way. He felt like Dean didn't quite understand that enough. 

“If he gives it back, you know I won't stop until I fix you.” He said it so flatly, just stating a fact. It was in both of their interests to make sure he stayed this way. 

Dean didn’t take the bait, and he carefully hid away his own fears.

“You don’t have a soul… you, they can fix. Me? Nah. There’s no fixing this.” 

He felt that the Mark protected him. Secured his position as a demon.

“Don’t banish the little winged creep next time, he’ll be good as dead.” When Dean was done playing, of course. 

They swept out onto the next witch and the weird air between them broke hard a few days later in a relatively abandoned rest area in the middle of a desert in the south west.

Dean took Sam in a dusty bathroom even if he had to take a few (healed) hits to do it.

Only then did they stop for another one of Dean’s party phases and in turn, space for Crowley to visit.

Dean knew he’d turn up sooner rather than later but all was quiet at first. He was busy with a certain tenacious angel.

Cas didn't have many he considered allies besides Sam and Dean and of all the people he trusted Crowley the least. But he held the power he knew it would take to get done what needed to be to save the Winchesters. 

He just had to make him see that it was the right thing to do. 

To say their conversation went well would be an overstatement. The king of hell had all but laughed at Cas’ proposal. He loved this new Dean, and even Sam had his uses like this. He stopped bitching about Crowley's business in the demon deals for one. And he was letting Dean have all the fun his little dark heart desired. 

Cas came away from the meeting and went back to the drawing board defeated. Crowley was the only one he knew who could handle the task. He didn't trust any angels with not smiting Dean upon sight or taking Sam's soul up to heaven without returning it to him. 

When Crowley did show up to join the merrymaking, he was already in a hell of a good mood. He tossed back girly drinks and played a wicked game of pool with Dean that others came to watch and they genuinely had a good time. 

As the night started winding down around them, he was there with a finger tipping Dean's chin up. 

“When are you going to join me in hell, my love?” He purred, that certain sparkle in his eye that said he was dreaming of the death and destruction.   
Dean could see the want in Crowley. He had this fantasy of Dean being down there with him, ruling, instilling fear on his behalf. Playing pretend at some sort of relationship— Dean was lost on what Crowley desired there. But he knew that Hell wasn’t nearly as much fun as it was up here. He’d like Alistair's old job but he would get bored of it quickly.

So to say he didn’t give it any thought would be a lie but he did answer pretty confidently.

“Never.” A devilish smirk played upon his lips and he nipped Crowley’s hand before he went back to drinking.

He was a MacLeod sandwich at the bar. Rowena at his right feeling secure in herself now that she had the book as protection. Crowley at his left growing weary of this game and longing for some sort of commitment Dean wouldn’t give him. 

Dean didn’t quite know what to think of it, really.  
Both of them being in the same airspace and not fighting and both buddying up to him. He’s slept with them both recently, it was a confusing moment.

They both seemed to watch him when he got up and instead choosing one of the evil spectators, he gave Sam the ole headtilt and meaningful look and they got in the Impala and bailed headed nowhere special unless Sam had a place in mind. He was driving.

For once, Sam sat back and let Dean lead. Now more than ever he wanted Dean to realize that he was the good guy here. That it was them against the world, not Dean and his gang of party pals. He waited a good long while, letting the calmness of the open road settle in before he spoke up. 

“They seemed chummy tonight.” Them on good terms? Who would’ve thought. Were pigs flying? Sam was stirring up suspicion without pointing Dean in any concrete directions yet. He didn’t want to seem like the one pulling strings. Better to let Dean feel like he came to the conclusion all on his own. “Hell must’ve frozen over.” He gave a dry laugh. 

“They did.” Dean seemed to agree for once. “It’s weird.” He didn't open the map because Sam hadn’t ask for navigation.

He was smoking in the passenger seat again. 

“Rowena seems different since i gave her that ugly book.” He told his brother casually. As if he hadn’t handed a very old, very powerful witch a very dangerous book. 

Sam hummed, passing a car going too slow in the left lane. Their once precious car was no kept mint only because of Sam’s need for everything to be in working order. It wouldn’t do to have a car that broke down on them in the middle of a hunt. So it was him that changed the oil and gave her a tune up and fed her antifreeze when they made their way up north. 

“She has more power than she knows what to do with now.” He knew Dean cared little for consequences, but this one should have given him pause in Sam’s opinion. Uncaringly he’d made someone just as manipulative and conniving as them, even more powerful. “I’m sure Crowley’s licking at her shoes looking for favor. A lot a witch with that book can do.” 

There was something suggestive in the way Sam said it, but he was still being purposefully vague. Just poking around at a shape in the dark. Crowley with his known desire for Dean, buddying up to a powerful witch with an ancient tome. What could go wrong?

“How does Tucson sound?” Sam wanted dry heat and wide open spaces and the barrenness of the desert. It wasn’t too long a drive and there were plenty of bars to go crawl in. He hadn’t even suggested a hunt. Subtly, giving Dean all of his favorite things. 

Dean didn’t suspect Sam this time. He was too busy trying to figure out what kind of favor Crowley would want and how Rowena could benefit from helping.

He didn’t have the answers and it bothered him, but it felt like a threat to their existence.

“Yeah, sure.” He answered blindly. 

Days, he thinks about it while crawling through the desert from bar to bar. Sam can probably tell Dean’s gears were turning and was trying to allow them to turn by not disrupting his cycle.

Crowley sent some lingering followers of Abaddon their way as a gift but it rubbed Dean the wrong way. 

He drove out of town with Sam after leaving a bunch of bodies in a convenience store and he was steaming mad.

Dean didn’t mind the killing, but he minded the implication behind it. Crowley was playing a game that Dean didn’t want to play.

To throw everyone for a loop, they go to the bunker. You couldn’t really call it home for them, not how they were now. But it was as good a place as they had to get off the radar. Sam had fingered demons in two more stops they’d made after the Abaddon cronies, goons of Crowley no doubt, doing recon on his little murder knight. 

Sam enjoyed that Crowley was so thoroughly screwing things up for himself. In their time together, Sam had taken the time to learn what this Dean needed and it was the opposite of Crowley’s overbearing come ons. 

So to the bunker they went to regroup and let Dean stew about his demon problem. Sam peeled off to research and not look so pleased at the furrow to Dean’s brow. 

He liked when plans came together just right.

At the bunker, unbeknownst to Sam, something changed. A certain tell just like during their witch hunt that preceded the arrival of an angel. The angel. Cas swooped in, immediately aware of the Winchester’s lurking in it’s sprawling maze. He hurried through his gathering of supplies for the spell required to pull Sam’s soul from the box, staying only as long as he dared. 

He could feel Dean, that odious presence drawing nearer. Just as the door to the storage room burst open, he was gone. The force of his transport sending a few papers fluttering to the ground lazily in his absence. Just a tantalizing taste for the wanting demon.

Dean had stalked that presence slow and savoring, blade in hand. And it was so disappointing when it vanished. He felt it as he was opening the door— the lack of the angelic grace. 

He stood there for a long moment, just soaking it in and looking at areas that seemed disturbed in the store room.

Probably making it impossible for Sam to tell what Cas had been digging in because Dean was so careless about it.

Dean took his time finding his brother. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Wings was here.” He told him. “Almost caught him digging around in the store room. Slippery fucker.” 

Why was everyone bothering them? They were killing monsters. Dean hadn’t gone rogue (yet) and started killing unnecessarily. Between Cas and Crowley, Dean was fit to break and just flatten a town.

It drove him crazy that he knew they had secret plans that involved him but not knowing what. 

Castiel would only need ingredients for spell casting. Which was worrisome in a way Dean couldn’t deny. 

Dean was getting paranoid, just like Sam wanted him to be.

“I’m calling Rowena.”

He called her up under false pretenses. Met her at the garage to let her in and there they were—- demons in the night keeping their eye on him. Or was it Rowena. 

Crowley must be really on edge that Dean had cut him out.

As soon as Rowena was inside the bunker, he seized her by the neck and held her to the wall with as much of his invisible power as physical.

“Are you working with Castiel?” He asked rough, serious. 

Although it caught her off guard, Rowena was not a woman who scared easily. She could tell Dean meant business so she stowed the coy act.

“The handsome pouty one? Oh I wish.” She could get out of the hold, but any act on Dean could urge him to bring that knife out and she wasn’t eager to test if she could escape true death today. “Did somebody say that I was?” 

Rowena wondered if this had anything to do with Crowley’s not-so-subtle desire for a peek at the book of the damned but she wanted to hold on to that nugget just in case she needed out of a tight corner. It never did to show your hand before you knew what the bets were. 

Dean slowly lowered her and let go of her neck but his other hand had the blade turned towards his own arm, handle ready towards Rowena like he would flip it at any time to get her.

“Cut the bullshit, Rowena.” He wasn’t elaborating on what he thought she did, but she was being accused of something here. Something that could get her killed right now if Dean grew tired of this game. 

Rowena's lashes lowered, those hooded green eyes regarding him cooly. She had a feeling she knew what this was about now, and she realized quickly she'd made the wrong choice in trusting her son to handle it. 

“Fergus approached me.” Her voice was low and conspiratory. Like she had been playing Dean's spy all along even though she'd just changed her allegiance this moment. “He wanted a certain spell from the book.” 

His worst fears. Another person trying to control him. Rowena hadn't said it in so many words but her gaze lowered to the mark before flicking back up to his face. That was message enough. 

Dean’s eyes went dark. Black flooded the white and green and he never looked so menacing and inhuman. She’d touched something in his rotten core that set off the darkest of his intentions.

Despite her information, he made a move to kill her but Rowena was thirteen steps ahead of him and gone.

Dean didn’t warn Sam. He didn’t go tell him what happened. He just let that anger take him outside to deal with the Demons, and any others he found.

It didn’t draw Crowley out, if anything Dean running around scaring (or killing) Demons out of their hosts while asking for Crowley whereabouts kept him in his safe haven of Hell more.

Until Dean got confirmation, again and again that Crowley from the weak followers, that he was in Hell. It was to the point where he knew the coward wasn’t going to come out of hiding that Dean Winchester willed himself to enter the pits of Hell.

His presence, especially down here is unignorable. He was raging with raw power. The power of some of Lucifer’s first borns passed on to him through the mark and fully tapped into in anticipation of getting his hands on Crowley.

He wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to try whatever it is he thought he could make of Dean.

Even with the situation spiralling wildly out of control, Crowley felt safe in the idea that Dean would never come to hell. He just needed to run some damage control and get Dean back in the green with him again. 

The moment they felt that tremendous power ascend, he smoked out. Abandoned ship and left his throne empty. The first place he went was to Castiel. Dean needed to be stopped but in order to do that, they needed Sam. It was pure arrogance to think he could ever control something like Dean. 

Sam waited topside in the wake of Dean's mess, so sure he would come back with Crowley's head on a pike. 

Dean didn’t come back with Crowley or any pieces of him, or even an inkling of news about him. Just a rage bubbling below the surface, on the hunt and wanting Sam’s brain as an asset.

Also needing him to touch things demons couldn’t.

He’d aported as many places as he could looking for Crowley, or Castiel, or even Rowena. Nothing. So he goes to Sam, and he tells him they’re killing the King of Hell, and that slippery Angel too. Rowena if they could find her.

They were all going to die. 

Sam is exactly the help Dean needed in that moment. He isn't goading or manipulative. Or even placating. Dean asks and Sam has a plan already. 

They set a snare of the demon king and prepared to summon him. After, they would summon the angel and be done with it all in two swift blows. It wasn't the way Dean liked to hunt but it would be the only way to get this job done cleanly. 

The summoning is done in their home made dungeon so to speak, where the devils trap was already ready and waiting for Crowley, Sam just had to step inside and finish the spell with a flame. 

There was a glaring flaw in their plan, though. Crowley and his new companion were lying in wait. Cas knew what Dean's next step would be and they prepared for it. The instant the flame caught Crowley was there, in the circle with Sam and Cas's arms locked around Dean. Crowley's arrival had masked his own. 

He let his grace rise to the surface, eyes glinting blue as he held the demon still in his arms. It only took a few seconds for Crowley to uncap the bottle holding Sam's soul and Dean got to watch as it raced home. 

Sam threw himself down to escape it, but there was no running from yourself. It was time to come home. 

He stayed braced on his elbows on the ground, hair obscuring his face as everything came rushing back. Every damned moment of what he'd done. The hurt he'd caused. God he...he put a blade through Dean just to see what would happen. Sam moaned in misery, heart wrenching in two. 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Dean.” His forehead was pressed to his arms, nearly bent to the ground as he suffered. 

This was why Sam had tried to warn Dean about letting his soul come back. The guilt of what he'd done ensured that he wouldn't rest until Dean was fixed. Even if that meant trying for the rest of his life to find a cure. 

Dean was mad at first but it turned to a controlled sort of panic when Sam sounded so heavy with emotion.

Cas couldn't hold him forever. And the minute his hold let up even a little bit, he was gone. He didn’t risk trying to kill any of them. He just put space between him and Sam, as quickly and as far as possible. 

Dropped himself right in the middle of Florida, unable to go much farther after traveling so much while looking for Crowley. He needed to recharge. Unfortunate.

The only good thing was that Sam seemed too emotional to act quickly. He could stay ahead, thats all he needed to do. Sam would catch up eventually. Maybe. 

But not now.


End file.
